Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

James was going to have to kill someone.

He had four hours until the start of his party and there was an ugly, abrasive and, most importantly, obstructive scaffold being built against the wall of the building adjacent to his terrace. The terrace where his entire party was supposed to be taking place. Contained. Controlled. In full view of the surveillance team that was supposed to be watching every move his guests made.

“Somebody tell me what’s going on.” He ground in to his com. The chick on his lap looked at him funny. He waved her off and pretended to go and get more champagne from the chiller. “Does anyone in the bird’s nest have a clear view?”

There was a chorus of negative responses and some swearing.

James saw the man that was building it, some uneducated blonde idiot that was completely screwing him over. This asshole was going to completely fuck up three entire days’ worth of recon. James started cursing to himself and tried to think of a solution. With the painter’s scaffolding going up, that meant the surveillance team wouldn’t have a clear view of the terrace.

Or Ivan Abramovich.

Or the mysterious American arms dealer Abramovich was in Miami to make a deal with.

“I’ll handle it.” James muttered into the mic. He smiled at his bikini clad companions and held out the bottle of champagne enthusiastically. “Who thinks I can throw this far enough to hit the other building?”

One of them, a bottle blonde with more hair than bikini, tossed her hand up excitedly. “I do!”

“So do I.” The woman next to her agreed. She tossed James a sultry grin.

He couldn’t be less bothered by either of them, which was exactly why he’d been picked for this detail. It was much easier to defend against allegations of distraction or impropriety by putting him in with the gorgeous women instead of, say, Rumlow. Not that had stopped both men from resenting their roles a little bit. James could see Rumlow shooting him jealous glances from where he stood in his stewards’ uniform behind the bar.

“Sir.” He called. “I wouldn’t advise that y-”

James had already launched the bottle.

It hit the structure of the scaffold and shattered, making the girls cheer. But no damage.

“Another.” James cheered. The girls clapped excitedly. Rumlow scowled at him but still handed him another full bottle of champagne. He wound up dramatically, winking at the blonde woman as she cheered him on. Then he launched it.

“Direct hit, sir.” Rumlow informed him. The bottle smashed against the support closest to the worker.

He’d be fine, and wasn’t injured, but he spun to look up at them furiously. “What the hell?”

“You’re ruining my view.” James shouted down to him. He gestured to his decorations. “I’m about to have a party.”

The man shrugged. “Not my problem.”

“Another bottle, Winston.” James told Rumlow. The other man scowled deeply, but fetched the bottle.

“It’s John, sir.” Rumlow corrected him. James played dumb.

“I thought we ordered Dom Pérignon?” He asked. Rumlow closed his eyes and counted to ten. Aloud.

“Not the champagne, sir.” He corrected. James pretended to still not comprehend. Behind him, the girls were giggling uproariously. It only got worse when Rumlow sighed. “My name is John, not Winston.”

James waved a dismissive hand and took the champagne. “Whatever you say, Winston.”

This time the bottle left James’s hand weirdly. He honestly hadn’t meant to aim it that close to the guy’s head. He winced as it shattered mere inches from his face, covering him in champagne and, probably, glass shards. He heard Rumlow swear behind him.

“Deal with that.” James told him, waving Rumlow away. And as he walked. “Get the scaffold moved!”

And then he climbed back into the hot tub with the beautiful women, which should have been a much more enticing offer than it was. They cozied up against him and James turned the music up to some obnoxious level so that they would dance. He pretended to appreciate the view through his sunglasses but in reality was listening as Rumlow tried- and failed- to negotiate with the scaffold man.

“My boss is an ass.” He heard Rumlow tell him. He snorted.

“I heard that.” He muttered.

“What?” The blonde, he thought her name was Candi, stopped dancing to look at him.

“A huge asshole.” Rumlow continued. James grinned and stood to dance with Candi. Selling the ploy.

“I’m going to sue.” The man insisted. James snorted. For what? A champagne shower?

“You couldn’t afford an attorney good enough to touch him.” Rumlow snapped. James snorted. The United States government had deep pockets, but not that deep. This operation had taken everything short of a Senate subcommittee to get approved. It wasn’t like they were the military. At least, not officially the military.

Rumlow wasn’t going to be able to calm this down. He sighed and climbed back out of the hot tub. The girls kept dancing but James grabbed a towel and draped it casually over his shoulder before wandering to the railing. Rumlow was going to absolutely hate this. He forced an insolent grin and leaned over towards where they were talking, holding another champagne bottle loosely.

“Gentleman.” He called. “Is there a problem?”

The blonde guy he’d showered in champagne sputtered angrily. “Is there a problem?”

“That is what I asked you, yes.” He grinned when the man’s face turned even redder.

“Boss.” Rumlow called up warningly.

“Relax, Winston.” He called down. The scaffold guy looked confused and Rumlow looked murderous.

“I’m coming up there.” He shouted. James rolled his eyes. This should be good.

He positioned himself on the wide concrete railing, smiling widely and drinking straight from the champagne bottle. It was non-alcoholic, but the girls definitely didn’t know that. Not that they’d let on at least. James was technically on the job and technically needed a clear head. Technically. So the sweet cloying taste of the champagne came without any of the benefits. James continued to drink it anyway to sell the whole look. Insolent millionaire with more money than brains partying with his girlfriends before a party. That’s all he was.

When the man stepped on to the terrace he looked taken aback. Horrified, actually.

His white t-shirt was stained and ratty. His hair was a wreck. Not styled, barely clean. The man would have a pretty face if it weren’t for the deep dark circles under his eyes. Which, incidentally, were offset by a ring of red irritation that was no doubt caused by James’s champagne. Honestly, James should be the one looking horrified, not whoever this was.

“Can I help you?” He asked. The man was scowling deeply.

“I need you to stop-”

“What?” James held a hand to his ear. The music was loud, but not deafening.

He was cute when he was annoyed. It only made James’s grin spread wider. The man walked over to his speaker and lowered the sound, considered it for a second, and then turned it all the way off. Both of the girls made sounds of disappointment. James shushed them, gesturing indulgently, and moved to sit between them. He might not be a straight man, but he knew a good power play when he saw one.

“Can I help you?” He asked.

“Stop throwing things at me.” The other man snarled. “I have less than two hours to get this up an-”

James clicked his tongue a few times. “That does not work for me.”

“What?” The man stared at him as if he didn’t comprehend.

“I have a party tonight, like I said before.” James said slowly. He was over-enunciating and otherwise being an absolutely jackass, but it was part of the job. Unfortunately for this guy, he was making it way too much fun. “You are completely ruining my view with your….stand-y thing.”

“Scaffold.” The man explained dumbly. “We have a permit.”

Bucky waved a hand dismissively. “Put it up tomorrow. After the party.”

“We have a deadline. The owners want it pai-”

“So you lose an hour or two. Not my problem.” Bucky shrugged. “Do it tomorrow.”

“Excuse me?” The man was flustered, angry, and blushing. James grinned.

“Ignore that thing.” James told him, waving dismissively. “You’re not hideous. Join us in the jacuzzi.”

The girls giggled and waved like he cued them. The man’s jaw hung open. “I’m not. I can’t. I. Um.”

“Don’t hurt yourself.” James teased him.

“I won’t.” The man’s teeth ground together. He was fuming.

“So, that’s a no on the jacuzzi then?” James asked. He was playing it up, but actually was a little disappointed that wasn’t something that was going to happen. “Shame. Isn’t it ladies?”

“It is.” Candi was making eyes at the blonde guy. He continued to stand there, blushing and awkward.

“I can’t. I need to get that scaffold up.” He repeated. Damn broken record, honestly. James sighed.

“What do you do?” James asked him, gesturing to the railing. “ You know, with the stand-y thing.”

“We’re painting the building.” He said finally, crossing his arms. James held up his hands in victory.

“Just bring in more men and paint faster tomorrow. Just no scaffold tonight, yeah? You’re painting an office building beige. It’s not some MoMa masterpiece artwork. You’re not an artist.” He didn’t see why it was such a problem. But he could also practically see that his new friend was definitely about to blow.

“We’re not painting it beige.” He told James tersely. “We’re commercial painters. We d-”

“It’s okay, we all have embarrassing qualities.” James waved him off. Because, really, what did the color matter? Beige, white, brown. It was all the same difference to him. “I mean for me, it’s the questionably translated tattoo on my ass. It was meant to say ‘strength’ but I’m pretty sure it says ‘white asshole’.”

“How apt.” The man drawled shortly. James had to stop a laugh.

“You know, for an attractive man you have a terrible attitude-”

“Gee, thanks.” The blonde interjected angrily.

“-but your embarrassing career choice isn’t my fault.” James told him.

“It’s not embarrassing.” He snapped. James grinned.

“Fine, blue collar. Or whatever the politically correct term is. But you need to let go of that anger. You’d be so much more attractive if you smiled. You’re not bad for a backwoods putz, you know.” James winked at and practically counted down the seconds until the inevitable breakdown. The man stared at him for a minute in absolute shock. Then, finally.

“Exactly who do you think you are?” He sputtered indignantly.

“James Hubbard the third.” James told him. He stepped to grab another glass. “Charmed, I’m sure.”

The sounds that came out of the other man’s mouth couldn’t actually be constituted as speech, but they told James plenty. He was happy they weren’t face to face or he would have seen James’s face crack for a second as he did his best not to laugh. The absolute shocked outrage and horror. Though, James was just glad that he hadn’t gotten himself punched yet.

“And you are?” James asked him, gesturing at his appearance somewhat condescendingly.

“Steve. Steve Rogers.” He nodded. Self-conscious, he lifted a hand to rake fingers through his hair.

It didn’t help the mess of it, but James appreciated the view.

“So we’re clear then?” James asked, gesturing to the general area of the scaffold. Steve frowned.

“What?”

“You’ll take it down now, right?” James asked. He knew the answer already, but the shade of red that Steve turned made asking the question anyway absolutely worth it. Steve sputtered for a few seconds before finally finding the words to respond.

“No.” He shouted. “Fuck no. You don’t own the property. You’re not paying me. I need to get it up.”

James widened his eyes. “I don’t think helping you get it up is my problem.”

The stopped Steve in his tracks. And apparently sent him over the edge. His fist connected with James’s chin and sent him sprawling. He was stronger than he looked, which wasn’t insubstantial. Both girls screamed and darted from the hot tub back in to the apartment. James groaned. Steve was standing above him still looking murderous but James just smirked.

“Oh, I am getting you so fired.” James laughed. It helped take the sting out of the punch. Just a little.

“What?” The man sounded like a broken record. James stood and ignored him.

“Girls.” He called to them. It was partly for cover and partly to see the way Steve’s face turned a bright shade of outraged red. They came back out tentatively. James whipped the towel from his shoulders and tossed it at Steve, hitting him the face. “Thank you for your cooperation. I’m sure you’re little shelf-y thing can go up tomorrow.”

Steve sputtered and threw the towel back. It landed in the hot tub. “I’m not cooperating with anything.”

“You’re not?” He asked.

“I need the scaffold up today. I can’t leave until it’s up.” Steve told him. James cocked a head to the side.

“But I don’t want to look at it during my party. It’s ugly.” And he honestly didn’t see the harm in one day when it was going to scrap his whole operation if it was in place. “And anyway, it’s already going down. See? Cooperation!”

Rumlow and his team had steadily been dismantling it behind them. Steve gaped as he realized.

“No. No. Nonononono.”

James knew to hide this time and missed the brunt of Steve’s fury by stepping in to the apartment, dragging the beautiful blonde girl with him.

“Where are you going?” Steve demanded.

James made a face. “I told you. I have party to get ready for!”

“You have to make them put it back.” Steve pointed towards the destruction.

“I really don’t.” James told him. He rubbed his jaw where Steve had punched him. “Unless you really think your boss needs to know why you needed my help.”

“Help?” Steve gasped out, dumbfounded. James grinned.

“I will see you tomorrow, Stefan!” He called. Steve tried to correct him but James had resumed pulling the blonde towards his bedroom. “I only have three hours to get ready. And with Lydia here helping me, I’m going to need every minute of it, if you know what I mean.”

By the mixture of fury and embarrassment on Steve’s face, he did. The Blonde pouted. “It’s Candi.”

She was? James shrugged, genuinely at a loss. “Of course it is, doll.”

“I can’t leave without that scaffold up.” Steve told him. James just waved him off dismissively.

“Then I guess you’re sleeping here tonight.” James waved. “Goodnight!”

He heard Steve curse a few times, but continued back to the bedroom. Rumlow would make sure the scaffold stayed down, he was sure. Plus, it was already three in the afternoon. It’s not like that guy was going to sit there and rebuild the whole thing just out of spite.

-------------------------

It was not a surprise to Steve that spite was his absolute strongest motivator. He’d heard it on multiple occasions from some people who were pretty strong authorities on what Steve and would not do. So when Steve screamed after that rich asshole that he was absolutely going to put that scaffold back up, and would have it up before the party, he knew that he absolutely wasn’t leaving until he’d gotten the whole thing erected.

It was only a fourteen foot lift. Two seven foot high sections of pipe with, plus bracing, and a platform at eight feet off the ground. That had to be at least thirty feet long.

He was going to be so, so late.

He hoped Sam could forgive him.

Fury had told him he could leave once he got the scaffold set up. The other crew was coming in at six in the morning to start repainting the exterior of the building and none of them were certified to properly get the scaffold up. It had to be Steve. And Steve couldn’t get in before nine because he’d promised the social worker he would be better about making sure the kids got to school on time (apparently Wanda had a habit of just not going to her first two periods) and stayed there (because apparently Pietro liked to skip his last two periods). When it had first come up he’d promised to personally drive to school in the morning and arrange for someone to pick them both up in the afternoon.

Which had been a month ago. And he hadn’t gotten there but like three times. Work kept interfering and Steve was still having to rely on the bus, Sam, or Natasha. Once this job for S.H.I.E.L.D. was finished, Steve would be able to sleep normal hours and actually be a solid foster father to his kids.

The point remained that he had things he needed to do. That he’d promised to do.

Steve hadn’t meant not to keep the promise.

He was damn sure going to keep the promise tomorrow.

He could hardly contain his temper and tried to focus on working. He needed to leave no later than four. If he didn’t leave by four, he wouldn’t make it in time for Sam to leave for his night watch at the base. And Sam really bitched about being late, even when he knew his partner Riley would absolutely cover for him. Something about being a roommate and not a co-parent. Steve understood, but really just didn’t have enough hours in the day.

But he wasn’t leaving without that scaffold up, secured, and inspected. Usually he could call on Clint to help, but something had happened with his dog, Lucky, and he had called out the entire day. Which meant he was probably home playing X-Box. Steve was tempted to call him out on it.

“My boss already said no scaffold.” Winston- or was it John?- told him Firmly.

Steve lifted and secured the next bar.

“ ‘d you hear me?” The man snapped. His professional demeanor was slipping.

Steve tied off the x-bracing and tightened it with his wrench instead of responding.

“Hey, buddy.” The assistant put hands on Steve, which was further than Steve could let it go. He shoved him to the ground roughly and went back to his work. He had less than hour and more than halfway to go.

“I’ve got a job to do, asshole.” Steve told him.

“You’re a painter.” He gestured to Steve’s shirt and logo. Steve glowered.

“I get paid. Same as you.” Steve shrugged. Probably better, but Steve wouldn’t go there.

“I’m not letting the scaffold go up.” He crossed his arms.

“Listen, Winston.” He heard the man huff but Steve kept going. “I have a contract in my truck that says the owner wants it here. I have a permit from the city telling me I can block the sidewalk. I have approved paint samples and an approved schedule.”

Winston held up his hands defensively.  “My boss has his party tonight.”

“My boss doesn’t care.” Steve told him with a shrug.

“You can’t-”

“You either come back with a police officer to stop me or I totally can.” Steve snapped. This was wasting time that he didn’t have. He still had three bays of scaffolding to go. Steve winced at his watch and turned away from the asshole’s assistant.

He didn’t leave, but stood there and watched Steve as he worked without saying anything. It was weird. But Steve didn’t have the time to care about that. He checked his work and tagged where he needed to certify that it was built properly. Approximately three seconds after the last bar was checked, Steve was in his car and racing for the house.

He got there at 6:30.

Shit.

He didn’t even have to go inside to know that Sam was going to be pissed.

Mostly because he was standing on the porch, scowling at him.

Wanda and Pietro were sitting on the steps of the porch sharing a bowl of ice cream. An older woman with greying hair was standing behind them, next to Sam, and appeared to be having an amiable conversation with the twins. Wanda even giggled at something she said, which lit up her whole face. It was almost more than Steve had been able to manage since they’d moved in with him. It didn’t help that they both mainly spoke Sokovian.

“I’m so sorry that I’m late.” Steve called over as he bounded out of the car. Four heads turned towards him sharply. “I couldn’t get away from work.”

The older woman stuck at her hand for him to shake, but glared at him with pursed lips. “You’re late.”

Hadn’t he just said that he knew that? And was sorry?

“Yes.” Steve nodded. Because he had been, and it was rude.

“He’s a painter.” Wanda told the woman. Her voice didn’t betray any opinion on the matter. Just a statement of fact as she stared at him, head tilted slightly to the side. She slid her gaze back to the older woman. “And a carpenter. And he works at the pizza place with Tasha.”

“Very busy, then.” The woman raised an eyebrow.

“Yes.” Steve admitted. He felt uncomfortable. He knew he looked a mess. He knew he was flustered.

“Since the foster parent’s here.” Sam’s voice told Steve he was going to be hearing about it later, but was amiable enough to the outsiders. “I’m going to leave for work.”

As he left, both twins jumped up to hug his leg goodbye. Wanda first, but Pietro always followed suit. When Wanda trusted somebody, Pietro did too simply by default. It stung Steve a little bit that they did seem to be more affectionate with Sam than they were with him. But they did seem to know that this was not a moment to hold back and immediately following saying goodbye to Sam they ran over and said hi to Steve. He knelt down to give them both hugs.

When he stood, the older woman was glaring at him, not in a hostile way but in one that was definitely vaguely disapproving. Steve didn’t even know why she was there. The twins didn’t seem to mind her, but her presence made the hair on the back of Steve’s neck stand up.

“Why don’t we all step inside?” He suggested. The woman nodded curtly.

“Yes.” She pursed her lips. “Lets.”

*********************************

“An observational period.” Steve told Natasha over the phone later. The twins were in bed and he had earned a much-needed beer. “Apparently the school called them. It’s not a punishment, it’s a standards thing. But my case is under review for the next 60 days.”

He didn’t have to be there to know the pained face Natasha was making. “Shit.”

“I can’t let them take the twins.” Steve whispered.

“We won’t let that happen.” Natasha assured him.

Steve felt like crying. “This is the last thing I need right now.”

“Want me to come over?” She offered. Steve settled at his kitchen table, resting his head on it heavily.

“No.” He admitted.

“Sounds like you do.” She continued, her voice a little sing-songy.

“Nah.” Steve’s voice was mumbled in to the table. “Just tell your husband I hate him for skipping out on me to play X-Box. I had to deal with the customer from hell this afternoon. I blame him.”

He literally heard her relay the message to Clint. “He says not to be such a baby.”

Clint’s voice came through the background shouting something about Lucky. Steve ignored him.

“Tell him he has no fucking clue. And he owes me so big. He’s going to hear about all of it tomorrow.”

She laughed at him. Steve felt like shit. His temper still hadn’t calmed down from dealing with James fucking Whatever-His-Last-Name-Was the Third. Before he knew it, he was telling her the whole thing. From her laughter, Steve didn’t think she was showing him the proper amount of anger on his behalf. She was relaying some details of it to Clint, but after a while just put him on speaker phone. Steve regaled them with the whole story from initial bottle toss to the punch in his unfairly perfect jaw.

“A champagne bottle?” Clint was barely able to get the words out through laughter.

“Personally, I’d like to hear more about how unfairly attractive he is.” Natasha amusement was clear.

“I’d like to personally strangle you both.” He told them. It just led to another round of laughter.

“I can’t wait to explain to Fury that you got stopped by flying champagne bottles on the S.H.I.E.L.D. job.” Clint told him. He was practically giggling like a child. “Already three weeks behind and you have some jerk tossing Moet at you.”

Steve snorted derisively. “You think I let him stop me?”

“You stayed?” Clint asked him.

“Of course, I did.” Steve insisted. He preened a little, proud of himself. “I wasn’t going to leave until it was up. And I used anti-theft bolts. So it’s not coming down.”

Natasha cleared her throat. “And that’s why you were late getting back?”

“I told Fury I’d have it done.” Steve explained with a shrug.

“You promised Sam you’d stop making him late for work.” Natasha scolded. Steve huffed.

“Sam’s fine. He has job security. Keeping this job is more important than being a little late home.” Steve insisted. The job had run late. Clint had even hinted how mad Fury would be. Natasha said nothing and Steve rolled his eyes to himself.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me just because I’m right.” She said sharply. Clint started laughing at them.

“You sound like the Child Services lady now, Nat.” Steve whined, but he was laughing too.

“You roll your eyes at her too?” Natasha challenged. Steve had not. He’d thought about it. He’d been sorely tempted. But he’d managed to refrain from it until after she’d left him with a stack of paperwork about being under observation. Barely.

He did feel better after hanging up with Natasha and Clint. They continued to chide him for abusing Sam’s more flexible schedule but also commiserated about the awful client and the unfairness of his current schedule’s impact on his foster children. Neither Nat nor Clint had the time to help him, not with their pizza shop, but they’d always done what they could. Which was why the phone call ended with a promise to bring the twins by for dinner the following night.

After the call, Steve went out to the garage to the makeshift studio he’d made behind the lawnmower and bicycles. He’d have another two or three hours of enough energy to get some work done before exhaustion took over. Then an hour to tidy the house- not clean, just shove the toys and detritus to consolidated corners so the house looked like less of a pigsty. Then about four hours of sleep before he had to wake up the twins for school. Wash, Rinse, Repeat.

He didn’t even realize he was falling asleep until he slid off the stool on to the floor.

-------------------------

It was a hell of a party, even James had to admit that much. He only wished that he could actually enjoy it. Instead, he was making strategic rounds, based on the communication from the surveillance team in the apartment the next floor down. The entire apartment was packed with people, but none were the specific man that Hydra had tasked them with luring in.

“Boss.” Rumlow called. “Abramovich hasn’t arrived yet. I’m going to walk the street.”

James glanced towards the bar and frowned. “But you’re the only one mixing my drinks properly.”

“You’re literally drinking a Coke. Rum and Coke without the rum.” Rumlow snapped. James just grinned and raised his glass to a random old white man just because he knew Rumlow was watching him. “You are literally the worst.”

“Jack, go check the street.” James ordered. There was a snort of laughter on the communication link.

“Sure thing, boss.” Jack replied. James watched Rumlow glare at him over his bar counter in the corner.

Jack disappeared back into the apartment. James walked to the ledge of the balcony and watched the street. A few minutes later, Jack appeared on the street. James watched him head towards the corner as if he was taking a stroll with his cigarette instead of searching for signs of a Russian invasion. James turned and leaned back against the rail, sipping his drink casually.

“Are we scanning the faces of our guests?” James asked the team in his earpiece.

There wasn’t a response right away. James used his glace to hide the frown.

“I’m not hearing a super confident ‘yes, of course, boss’ like I want to.” James told them over the microphone. Still nothing. His frown deepened even further. The glass wasn’t going to hide the pain in his expression anymore. James turned towards the street again. “Can someone just explain to me why we’re not scanning faces?”

Someone cleared their throat. “That set up was in the adjacent building. Sir.”

“And?”

“And the scaffold is blocking the cameras.” The response was quick. Like pulling a Band-Aid. He swore.

“And?” James had to feign a smile as one of the beautiful women the party had been filled with came to the railing next to him. She practically simpered at him when he acknowledged her. Obviously she was trying to strike up a conversation, but James ignored her. It was a shame, because she was strikingly gorgeous- all Old Hollywood glamour with blonde hair and sinfully red lips- but she wasn’t his type either way. He was busy and it would be a waste of her time.

“Excuse me.” He pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket apologetically. “I have to make a call.”

Her smile weakened slightly- but only slightly- before she nodded. “Don’t mind me.”

“Don’t go far.” He told her warmly, giving her a wink. She’d have moved on in five minutes, but now wouldn’t think he was quite so rude. James walked to the corner of the balcony quickly, looking down the street with the scaffolding. He dialed one of the downstairs’ surveillance team and waited for an answer.

“Hello?” The agent answered timidly.

“Take care of it.” He growled into the phone. The agent didn’t bother asking him to specify what.

“Yes, sir.”

“Now.” He snapped.

James wished he still had the flip phone he grew up with so he could have the satisfaction of snapping the phone closed as he hung up on their excuses. There was something a lot less satisfying about angrily tapping the ‘Disconnect’ button on a touch screen. It didn’t have the same flair.

He turned to head back in to the party, spinning on his heel, and almost took out the gorgeous blonde who had approached him by the railing. She was still smiling all coquettishly. It was just a little too self-aware for it to be innocent, but that was certainly the expression she was aiming for. He smiled, prepared to deflect, and tucked the phone back in to his pocket.

“Hey, doll.” He smiled down at her. She smiled back up at him. “Something I can help you with?”

She laughed, something much deeper and more sensual than he’d been expecting. “I don’t think so.”

“You’re not here to do business?” He asked her, pretending to be surprised.

“Oh, I don’t know about all that.” She laughed and glanced towards the crowd.

She’d come here with someone and was looking for them now. James could tell. He heard Rumlow in his ear explaining why they didn’t have an ID and the agent from downstairs talking over him to try and explain why the scaffolding wasn’t going to be able to be moved to run facial ID’s.

“Smart girl like you wasting a night of opportunity like this?” He challenged. She laughed.

“Oh, you have no idea.” She told him, her look morphing in to something more predatory.

“That so?” He asked her. She took a step closer to him, snagged the glass from his hand, and swigged.

“I don’t waste opportunities.” She told him. Then she raised his glass. “But apparently you do.”

She set the glass down after completely draining it. James had to laugh to himself because, honestly, if he wasn’t just a little bit terrified and very much not straight, he’d have totally fallen for the move head over heels. Talk about a power move. “I don’t drink much anymore, I’m afraid. What can I say? We all have our vices. You busted me.”

“I most certainly did.” She nodded, smiling at him. She took another step forward.

It was at that moment that James realized he had been cornered. Not maliciously, as far as he could tell, but certainly eagerly. Unless he was going to jump over a couch, the woman very much had him stuck in this side corner of the balcony. He hadn’t even realized she’d been herding him backwards. And there wasn’t even another person on this side of the party either, they’d mostly been congregating by the open bar and music, leaving this area for- if smell was anything to go buy- some pretty inconsiderate cigar smokers.

He took another step back and his calves hit a small coffee table. His whole system tensed. James had never liked feeling trapped. It wasn’t this poor woman’s fault, but he felt the panicked bile rising in the back of his throat.

“Why don’t we go listen to the music?” He tried, as smooth as he could muster.

She shook her head, tucking a single blonde piece of hair behind her ear. “I was enjoying out little chat.”

“Were you?” He asked. She took another step forward. There was no further back from him to go.

“It was invigorating.” The emphasis she put on the word made James’ skin crawl.

“Boss, we need you in the store room.” One of the other agents called for him, in cover as a server.

James hope the woman didn’t take it the wrong way, but he practically shoved her out of the way in order to get away. He was at a party of black market arms dealers and other smugglers and, frankly, didn’t quite like the idea of any of them catching him alone- even the petite gorgeous Russian women.

“Have a nice night, James.” She called after him. James paused, tossed a weak smile and waved over his shoulder, and kept moving. That was not a viper’s nest that he planned on going back in to. He followed the agent- Johnson or something, if James remembered correctly- into the apartment and then over to the bar.

“Tell me we have facial recognition up and running.” James demanded.

“Sir, the scaffold-”

“That hasn’t been handled yet?” James snapped he sighed and turned towards the back area, ignoring the server’s protests. This was a staging area for the servers, who were all trained operatives. Rookie duty, but they were doing it well. From there he took the stairs down one level.

The room was half storage for the ‘caterer’ and half computer banks showing limited surveillance. The rest had needed to be placed across the street for space. James had thought the crew was meant to be six in the room and twelve serving upstairs, but there were only two at the computers and three servers. A glance at the screen only showed a handful upstairs at the most.

The few that were in the room turned their heads as he entered. James scowled at them. That didn’t exactly give him the highest level of confidence in their focus. He was an agent, not a legend. One of the younger ones actually had the nerve to point at him and mouth ‘The Winter Soldier’ to his partner in a stage whisper. James took two strides towards him and grabbed the finger.

“Do not point at your target.” He told them firmly. “Ever. Even if you know you’ve been spotted.”

The agent whose finger James was holding swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

“Point that at me again and you’re not gonna get it back.” He snapped at him. Somebody scoffed.

“You gonna tell them that’s how you lost your arm?” Rumlow was in one of the seats, bowtie untied and opened bag of chips in his hands with his dress shoes on the table in front of him. He turned to the young agents. “That used to be his thing. Tell everyone he lost his arm taking a swing at the wrong guy.”

James snorted and rolled his eyes. “I did.”

“You lost it in a plane crash.” Rumlow pointed out. “I was there.”

James snagged the bag of chips from him, saw they were sour cream and onion, and changed his mind. He sat on the counter and shrugged. The look he gave Rumlow was dark, and not just for his taste in chips. They’d both been on that plane, just like Rumlow said. And they both knew why it went down. Instead of getting in to it, he grinned towards the younger agents and gave a noncommittal shrug.

“Planes tend to crash when you knock out the pilot.” He explained.

“That they do.” Rumlow laughed but it sounded hollow. James gave him one last glare before standing.

“Did you actually need me?” James asked the agent who saved him. “Or were you just extricating me?”

Johnson laughed. “Both. Didn’t never see a man look so fuckin’ scared of a little old woman like that.”

“You and I have not met the same women.” James said with an exaggerated shudder. It got a laugh from the ones who thought he was joking. “Those are some of the most dangerous people I know.”

James watched the screen that Rumlow was facing, a view of the street. James leaned forwards and saw what the problem was- and where all of his agents were- it appeared the scaffold was more of an issue than any of them had anticipated. They had eight agents- two on each corner- literally dragging it down the street. James rubbed a hand over his face. Sometimes the level of stupidity in other people just astounded him.

Rumlow and Jack were keeping a running commentary on the form and progress. James had better shit to do. He stomped down the stairs of the building- forgoing the elevator- and out the front doors. The idiots were directly across the street.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He shouted. Most of the agents had the good sense to rush inside at his tone, but one didn’t. They turned and faced James obliviously. This was going to be a scene. But then again, a group of nicely dressed waiters dragging a scaffold down the street was also going to be a scene. James was just going to have to make it work.

“You…” The agent looked between the scaffold and James nervously. “You said to take care of it.”

James gave an exaggerated sigh. “Yes, I did. But not like a baboon.”

“You mean a buffoon?” The agent asked.

“No.” He snapped. But yes. The English had escaped him temporarily. He swore to himself quietly and spun towards where several of the party guests were also watching his agents act like idiots on a public street. “Wave hello to the people. The ones you’re supposed to be serving alcohol.”

“Um.” The agent swallowed uncomfortably.

“Who wants a drink?” James called up to the guests enthusiastically. Several raised glasses and cheers.

“Sir.” The agent shifted, still eyeing the scaffold. “It’s not far enough. It won’t work.”

James just glared at him. “You made it a scene. We don’t make scenes. We do things quietly in Hydra.”

“But” They tried to argue.

“No.” James snapped. “You want to be fired on top of embarrassed?”

They swallowed. “No.”

“Then get upstairs and be a goddamn waiter or you’ll end up a waiter for real. Understood?” They nodded twice but didn’t move until Bucky physically gestured for them to get out of his way. At that point they were smart enough to take off for the front doors of the apartment building. James rolled his eyes at their back. He leaned his chin down to speak directly in to his microphone.

“Make an excuse. Empty the patio for twenty minutes.” James sighed. “Get this scaffold moved quietly.”

The line cracked for a second before there was nothing. Almost like someone removing their line.

“GET IN HERE.” Someone shouted. James took off for the front doors.

When James got through the front doors, he noticed a lot of things very quickly. The blonde, gorgeous woman from upstairs. But she was, shockingly, the least surprising thing in the room. What made the most urgent impression was the barrel of the gun. He saw the other agents- both the ones still standing and the ones on the ground. And he saw his only other option. James dropped and scattered backwards over the shattered glass of the front doors and outside on to the street.

“You know, we never did introduce ourselves earlier.” The woman told him, calling across the street. “And really, James, that was just not every well-done of us. I’m Dottie.”

He really didn’t need her name. He turned to his mic. “Where is my back up?”

“I’m afraid they won’t be coming.” Dottie’s voice came over his com link. James ripped it out of his ear.

This was just perfect. He hid in an alcove and tried to make himself invisible.

“I’m afraid I’m going to need your help.” Dottie told him, clicking her tongue.

James didn’t really care what she needed from him. A bullet hit a little close to the top of his head and he ducked, hitting the ground. Two more quickly followed, so James took off. They were in a crowded area. This wasn’t a city, but it was big enough that there should people. Where were all of the people?

As if he summoned it, a car turned on to the street, coming from the same direction that James was running. But then he realized that it was coming too quickly. And it was coming straight for him. James swore- loudly- and turned on his heel. Two more shots rang out and hit the wall above his head. He swore. Ducking as much as he could. He dove on to the sidewalk, but the car followed suit. It hopped the curb and headed straight for him.

His only option was to jump in to the scaffold, clambering up to the top level. James expected the car to stop, or at least slow down, but it didn’t it slammed straight into the scaffold. The whole structure hit the building and skidded about fifteen feet down the sidewalk. Then the car reversed and hit it again. The scaffold started to topple against the corner of the building. It all started to cave within itself, collapsing. James tried to stay on top of it but the supports caught him and he ended up trapped within the metal supports.

James swore repeatedly. He was seeing stars from where his head had slammed against the brick of the building. He was trying to make his way out, but his ankle was caught between a metal plank for the walkway and the metal bracing.

“Get this mess off the main road.” James heard Dottie call. She must be speaking to the drivers.

“And him?” A male voice asked.

“Take care of that mess too.” She snapped.

The car’s engine revved and James felt the whole scaffold shift. It was agonizing because he could feel every vibration. The whole thing slowly moved down the alley. Once he could no longer see the end of the alley, they reversed the car. And then gunned it forward. One of the last things James saw before every went dark was the headlights of the car as it slammed in to the scaffolding one more time.

-----------------------------------------

James groaned.

He was alive, then. Brilliant. Just amazing.

Honestly, in that exact moment he was almost wishing that he wasn’t. Everything hurt. The skin where his prosthetic attached ached where it had been yanked. It was red, angry, and irritated. James could relate. He could relate a lot more than he wanted to. Reluctantly, because it hurt like hell, he started climbing himself out of the pile of rubble.

James had asked that asshole to not put up the scaffold. He’d been so clear. Rumlow should have handled it. James was pretty sure that made this entire mess Blondie’s fault. The scaffold shouldn’t have even been there, much less currently bent into a crumpled heap that was stabling James awkwardly in the ribs. If it hadn’t been, they would have seen the attack coming from a mile away and Abramovich would be in custody.

James saw the flush of the gun in his mind and flinched. It had been pointed right at him. Not at the other agents, but at him. They’d known about the operation, and they’d known that he’d been the head of it. The target had been on his head. He finally fell out of the pile of scaffold and on to the ground. Moving felt like a horrible idea so he just laid for a moment on the pavement hating his own existence.

“What else is new?” James grumbled to himself.

He forced himself to standing despite his body’s protests. And it protested loudly. Literally. He groaned from the moment he started standing to the moment he was upright.

“Alright. Now just to find someplace to hide before I get killed.” He told himself, taking a deep breath.

“Talking to myself. Perfectly healthy.” James admonished with a scoff.

“Because I’m the paragon of health, I guess.” He mocked. After a few unsteady steps towards the main road he realized that was not the right direction to head. He resented every step he’d taken that far, pouted for a second, and then turned in the other direction.

He made it about fifteen steps before falling when he stepped on his sore ankle wrong.

It was throbbing now. Painfully. James swore a few times, quietly but incredibly emphatically, and decided to stay where he was. Just for a few minutes. Until everything stopped hurting quite so bad. He forced a hand up to his head and felt around blindly. He had a gash of some kind above his hair line that was causing the pieces that weren’t tied back to get sticky and wet and fall in to his face.

Of course he did.

There was a noise at the end of the alley.

Several masked men armed with multiple guns- which was really overkill, in his opinion. Wouldn’t one gun with sufficient ammo been enough?- appeared at the opening on to the main road. Not even attempting to disguise what they were carrying. Amateurs. But it was also several more guns than he was carrying at the moment which meant that, in the inevitable conflict coming in a few seconds, James was most likely going to get shot. Which he would prefer not to happen, if he got a say in the matter. He knew it wouldn’t help but he laid incredibly still and hoped they just…wouldn’t see him.

“Is he dead?” One of them asked. Well, there went Plan A.

“He’s not moving.” The other said. “But they wanted proof.”

The first man snorted. “And they expect us to what? Serve his head on a silver platter?”

“I guess.” His friend must have shrugged. James heard their weapon shift.

“We could take the arm?” It didn’t sound like a joke. James really hope they decided against it. His arm already hurt and he really didn’t think they had the complex medical equipment that was required to actually detach the arm properly. As far as shadowy government agencies went, James’ really had the best medical insurance. It hadn’t spared any expense when it came to his replacement appendage. Those connections went deep and James didn’t think it was something with a quick-release latch.

“Nah, they said proof. Not gore.” James heard a shutter click. “A picture will have to suffice.”

There was another humorless laugh from the second man. “And they said he’d be hard to kill.”

“He was a good man.” The first man snapped. Good might be a stretch, but James would take it.

“I’m sure he was. Valuable, at least.” The snicker of the second man was as obnoxious as his tone.

“You’re an ass.”

“You’re the one who killed him.” His friend snapped defensively. James decided he didn’t like him.

“And I have the common decency to not be a shit about it.” He snapped at his friend. James wanted to smile but kept himself perfectly still. “We’re getting paid. This is a job. And if you’re going to be weird about it then you can keep your mouth shut.”

His friend just grunted.

James tried to move, but he hurt too bad. Even after the two attackers left, he didn’t move. Honestly, he wasn’t entirely sure that he could and didn’t want to press the issue. Rumlow would find him. Or one of the other guys on his team. They’d bring a med unit in and then he’d be fine. It was just a few bumps and bruises. Maybe a few stiches behind where he hit his head. His ankle was probably sprained. It didn’t feel broken, just tender.

More than anything else, his head hurt. Ached. He the light from the end of the alley- bright neon from the storefronts on the main street- was making it worse. Piercing, practically. So he shut his eyes because moving wasn’t an option.

And somehow when he opened them again, it was daylight.

Daylight. Which was so, so much brighter than storefront lights.

“Ow.” James grumbled to himself.

He moaned pitifully. His team hadn’t found him yet, so he was safe from ridicule. Also safe from medical help, which he most definitely needed if the sparklers going off behind his eyelids was any indication. They didn’t want to stay open.

“Sir?” Somebody was calling for him. Probably what woke him up in the first place.

“Are you okay?” This voice was a child’s. James groaned. He couldn’t scare a child by lying there dead.

“We’ve called the ambulance for you.” The adult called. James groaned again, louder. “You look hurt.”

James wasn’t going to get away with only grunts. “No ambulance. ‘m okay.”

“You don’t look okay.” The child called back.

“I am.” James insisted.

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.” James argued back before catching himself. He sighed.

“No, you’re not.” The child snapped back at him. James bit his tongue instead of responding.

They didn’t leave. James could tell without even looking towards the alley entrance. He didn’t move, not wanting to exacerbate any injuries. Neither did they, probably because he was a badly beaten stranger lying in a dirty unfamiliar alley. He heard the ambulance approaching before he even had the chance to fall back asleep, which he didn’t appreciate. Shouldn’t the response time in a backwater like this be a lot slower? He just wanted a rest.

“He was lying here as we went by.” The woman was explaining. “He didn’t respond when he called him.”

The was a huff from the little girl. “I thought he was drunk.”

The response was unexpected enough from such a young, exasperated child that Bucky’s head snapped up towards it. The little girl was staring right at him. It hurt his eyes so he let them close again. The EMT’s had been staring at him too. He’d have to have a story soon enough. At least one that would work well enough until he got to a phone in the hospital to call in to Rumlow or Pierce.

“Sir?” A hand was at his neck, checking his pulse. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, ‘m fine.” James grumbled. “I told them that already.”

The was a chuckle and the sound of someone rummaging through a bag. “Can you move?”

He rolled over on to his back and accidentally knocked their first aide bag over. “Sorry.”

“You’re fine.” The EMT told him, smiling widely.

“I’m fine.” James agreed. He managed to nod weakly.

They checked his eyes, which hurt, and cleaned the scrape on his head. There was a man and a woman and the while he worked on tending his injuries, she kept asking him questions. How was he feeling? What had he been doing? Did he know what happened? Did he know how he got that specific scrape? And James was expected to answer, so he did. He was feeling fine. He didn’t know. He might have been mugged. And probably the same way he got the rest of them, but he wasn’t sure.

“What’s your name?” She asked.

James just stared at her. He still didn’t have a plan. He still didn’t have a lie to tell. Her partner stopped.

“Beth.” He said quietly. “I don’t…I don’t think he remembers anything.”

It was a whisper, but it was what he needed. “I know who I am.”

“You do.” He nodded, clearly back tracking slightly. “Can you tell me what street we’re on?”

In this town? James couldn’t do that on a good day, much less now. This was easy. “Main street?”

“And in what city?” He pressed. James forced a determined look that caved in to confusion. It was the performance of a lifetime, if he said so himself. And with a bum limb and a head injury on top of it. Honestly, this was shaping up to be a great story. Sure to get laughs.

‘Remember that time I pretended to have amnesia to avoid the cops?’

“Sir, can you tell me your name?” The woman asked him. James open and closed his mouth a few times.

“I..I” He trailed off and pretended that he was getting choked up. “I don’t think I remember.”

-------------------------------------------

Steve woke up the next morning with a pounding headache. He already felt the stress in the back of his neck before having a single other conscious thought. It was like his body knew it was going to be a long day and was preemptively punishing for it. Harshly. Steve rubbed his hands against his face and began accepting the fact that his day was going to suck.

The blaring ring of his phone really didn’t help convince him otherwise.

Nobody called anybody before five-thirty in the morning without there being something gravely wrong. And given that neither of Steve’s children had set off the monitors he kept in their rooms, it wasn’t anything wrong with them. Which meant it had something to do with work. Probably wanting him to cover an extra shift. Steve had no kind words for Nick Fury before seven in the morning, at the absolutely earliest, and much later on days he wasn’t even scheduled to work for him. Steve let it go to voicemail.

It immediately started ringing again.

“No.” Steve whined. But he picked it up anyway.

“Rogers.” Fury snapped into the phone before Steve even had a chance to say hello.

“Here.” Steve grumbled. He sat up. Phillip’s tone said nothing good was going to follow it. Steve would not be going back to sleep. Accepting his fate, Steve reached for the lamp and switched it on. His day was starting a little early, he assumed.

“I need you to give me three solid reasons not to fire you.” Fury snapped at him.

Steve was instantly awake.

“Excuse me?” Fury threatened to fire him multiple times a week. But his tone was furious.

“How clear was I that I needed this scaffold up yesterday?”  Fury asked him. Steve pinched his nose.

“Very.” Steve nodded. That’s why he’d stayed late to make sure it was done.

“So, you’d have a really good explanation for not doing that then?” Fury asked him. Steve took a moment to process the question because surely his sleep addled brain had misunderstood. He had stayed late the night before to finish that work. He’d put in several extra hours to get it done.

“I did.” Steve said dumbly. “I did do that.”

He heard a snort. “Oh, so I’m calling at five thirty in the morning because I enjoy your witty repartee?”

“Maybe?” Steve knew it was dumb as soon as he said it. Luckily, Fury laughed.

“We’ve got an hour until our whole crew shows up and no scaffold for them to work on.” Fury snapped at him. Steve winced, but he knew what was coming so he was already tugging on some clean clothes and grabbing some socks from his drawer. “Get here, and quickly, before I fire you for real.”

Steve just sighed. “Yes, sir.”

******************************

Steve bumbled in to Sam’s room, nearly tripping some boots on the floor. He barely managed to stay standing. Steve reached for a socked foot hanging off of the end of the bed and shook it as hard as he could. There was a groan from under the covers but no response.

“Man, I’ve got to go to work. Fury’s got his panties in a twist.” Steve shook the foot again.

Another grumble from under the covers.

“Sam, wake up.” Steve shook the foot even harder. “I need you to get the twins ready for school.”

“I’m not Sam.” A voice- deep and gravelly that was definitely not Sam’s snapped. Steve stumbled back.

“Sam?” He tried again. The foot he’d been grabbing yanked away from him. But there was another sigh from under the covers that was distinctly more familiar. Sam appeared, sitting up in the bed and staring Steve down with a level of frustration that they hadn’t previously reached in their relationship.

“I hate you so much.” Sam grumbled. Steve looked down at his feet. Noticed the two pairs of boots.

“Is this Riley?” Steve asked with a gasp. The laughter from the other man told him his was right.

Sam tossed a pillow directly in to his face.

“I’ll get your kids to school just leave. Otherwise they’re walking.” Sam demanded. Steve was going to be late so he left, shutting the door behind him with the a snap. He was out the door five minutes later, bagel and coffee in hand, to meet Fury at the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility.

**********************************

They found the scaffold a block away and down an alley, completely mangled. Fury was staring down at it as if it was disappointing him, but Steve was almost in awe. It wasn’t disassembled. It was shoved down the alley whole, bent, and tipped over. It was no accident. Steve could at least stand by the claim that he’d gotten it up, but was at a loss for explaining how it ended up where it was.

“You’re fired.” Fury said sharply. Steve stopped trying to explain.

“Again?” Steve asked him.

“Fired.” Fury repeated with a shrug. His frown seemed to fall just short of sympathetic.

“Fired?” Steve was just trying to annoy him at this point, and Fury knew it.

“That’s what I said.” Fury snapped at him. And with that, he put his sunglasses back on and turned away to walk down the street. Steve was left standing by himself by the trashed scaffold looking between it and the retreating man.

“Like, for real this time?” Steve called after him. Fury held a middle finger up but said nothing.

Steve turned back to the scaffold and sighed. For insurance purposes, he snapped some photos of the damage. Some of the bars and joints were not going to be reusable. Replacing them was going to come with a fairly hefty price tag. It was a deliberate destruction. Pointed. Steve was almost tempted to call it angry of all things. And while staring at it, the realization of exactly who was to blame struck him directly in the chest.

“Fucking asshole.” Steve kicked a stone on the ground. “Fucking rich fucking asshole. Fucking rich fucking asshole fucking ruining fucking everything.”

Someone laughed behind him. “Rough morning?”

It was Clint. Steve would have laughed if he still wasn’t so angry. “You could say that. I got fired.”

He stopped in his tracks, coffee halfway to his mouth. “Again?”

Steve just shrugged. That part hadn’t exactly been clear. “Maybe? I’ll check with Fury tomorrow.”

“Why?” He asked.

In response, Steve just gestured to the trashed scaffold taking up half the alley.

“You did that?” Clint asked. His eyes were a little wide. Steve just leveled him with a glare. Clearly, this was not the work of a single man. Even one with a destructive streak as wide as Steve’s. Clearly this took a special level of asshole- one only achieved by those humans with brain defects that made them borderline psychopathic. Like the rich asshole from the night before.

“James Hubbard.” Steve intoned. “The third.”

Clint remembered enough of the story from the night before to wince at the named. “And you’re fired?”

None of the words that came out of Steve’s mouth were polite.

It took Steve, Clint, and Clint’s truck to get the scaffold from the alley. And the both of them, plus a few of the painters that had showed up to work, to get the bent and broken pieces removed. They were going to have some of the spare pieces brought from the shop but they cobbled together enough solid pieces for two of the four bays to be fully assembled. Steve could make nice to Fury and come back after work to finish the other two bays. It would have to be good enough.

Wait. Work.

Steve had to go to work. At his other job.

“Don’t you have a different job to get to this morning?” Clint asked him, right as Steve fastened the last tie. Just as the realization was already dawning on him. “One that expects you to show up if you want to get paid? And a boss that will actually fire you?”

Steve sprinted away without even picking up his tools. He heard Clint laughing behind him as he ran.

“You’re fired.” Steve was only fifteen steps onto the job site and the foreman didn’t even look up from the table saw he was working on to fire him.

“I’m here.” Steve insisted. “There was just a problem with m-”

The old man stopped cutting, spat, and looked over at Steve. “I don’t care.”

“We’ve got a lot to get done today,” Steve told him, stepping around him gently.

“And we’ve got a handle on it already. You can go.” He scratched his beard and turned to put his back to Steve and go back to work. Steve just stood there awkwardly. This wasn’t his highest paying job, but it was definitely one that he’d be hurting to go without.

Steve was swearing over and over in his head. He’d be fine. It would be fine. He now had to report to Child Protective Services that he’d lost one of his jobs the day after being placed on Supervision, but that was fine. He’d be okay. It was absolutely awful and awkward and embarrassing, but it was okay. He’d been more humiliated while trying to explain to the smug people at the adoption agency why he wanted to adopt as a single gay man. Well, as a single not-straight man.

Standing there was only going to be a further embarrassment, so Steve just left. He sent a text to Clint and Natasha, letting them know what had happened. Clint was at work for Fury and Natasha was running her pizza shop, so neither of them responded but venting about it made him feel better. Then he sent an email to May Parker about his wonderful news. Then he put his phone on airplane mode because, honestly, he wasn’t ready to hear any response from her about it. If he was in even more trouble, it could wait for a few hours.

----------------------------------

“So, what are you doing to do?” Natasha asked him. He was leaning against the counter next to her while she worked. “I don’t need to stress you out more. But that’s half your income out the window.”

She really, really hadn’t needed to remind him. “I don’t know.”

“We could use a delivery driver.” She told him. “Our last one hadn’t realized they needed a license.”

Steve snorted. He knew their driver. “Kate?”

“Yeah. Apparently she forgot to tell Clint about that part.” Natasha sighed and punched the dough she was working before portioning it out for individual pies. He pinched the bridge of his nose. He’d been a delivery driver when Natasha first opened her business ten years before. It wasn’t something that he remembered with a great level of fondness.

“I might have to. At least for now.” Steve admitted. “But that’s going to be more hours away from the kids. It’s not like you open at 7 A.M. like a job site. And Sam’s already pissed off about covering for me.”

“Maybe because you take advantage of him.” Natasha warned softly. Steve sighed.

“Let me talk to Fury first and I’ll let you know. I’ll probably not have a choice.”

Natasha nodded. “It’d be a favor to me, honestly. We all win.”

She was lying, but Steve appreciated it. A lot.

Steve went out front and hopped back into his truck. He didn’t know where to go from there, and he still had the rest of the day in front of him. Going back to his other job felt like humiliation. It would be a better idea to give Fury another day to calm down before talking to him about adding any hours (much less not firing him). But between defeat and humiliation, Steve would take humiliation any day of the week. So when he pulled out of the parking lot, he turned back towards the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility where he figured the painting crew would be in full swing. It was after lunch now and they should be back from any break.

He twisted through the back streets of the town and managed to avoid most of the slower lighters, but traffic came to a complete stop three blocks away from the job site. Steve actually put his car in park to wait. It was a full five minutes before a cop in a uniform walked up to his window and waved for him to roll it down.

“We’ve got an ambulance blocking the lane up here.” He told Steve. “You’ll have to turn around.”

Steve groaned. “Of course.”

“Sorry.” The cop just laughed and held up his hands.

So, with work not an option, Steve pulled a U-turn and headed towards the main road. With it being close enough to the end of the day he drove out to the twins’ school and pulled in to their parking lot. He pulled in to an empty space near a side entrance, intending to kill thirty minutes with his sketch book before heading inside to catch the twins before they got onto the bus.

Except for, right as he pulled in to the spot and glanced over to where the trees met the property line of the school. He watched a head of silver blonde hair dip below a bush right as he looked. A very familiar head of silver blonde hair.

“Son of a …” Steve slammed out of his car and faced the tree line. “Pietro. Get out here. Bring Wanda.”

There was no response, and then- slowly- a parting of the branches.

“Wanda is still inside.” Pietro said quietly when he get across the parking lot. He shifted on the balls of his feet guiltily. “She had a test last period today.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “And you didn’t?”

Pietro was smart enough not to lie about it and just looked down at the ground.

“Buddy, I need you to go to class.” Steve sighed. This was just perfect. He wondered if there was any chance the school hadn’t already notified the child protection agents about the infraction. Just considering it made his skull itch.

“I hate it.” Pietro grumbled. Steve laughed.

“I hated it too.” Steve admitted.

“I’m not stupid. ‘m not.” Pietro insisted. Steve saw the same insecurity he’d faced that he’d battled dyslexia growing up. The knowing you have the information in your head, but feeling like it was trapped there and his brain didn’t want to cooperate.

“I know you’re not.” Steve assured him. Pietro looked up at him.

“Am in trouble?” Pietro asked him quietly. Steve didn’t have it in him to hold on to the anger.

“I think….” Steve sighed and scratched the back of his neck. “I think today is a day for ice cream.”

Pietro’s whole face lit up. “With Wanda?”

“Of course.” Steve laughed. “But only if you get your butt back inside.”

Pietro made a face, but let Steve lead him back up to the front door of the school with a whispered promise to head straight to the ice cream place after he got done. Luckily, the bubbly brunette behind the front desk asked very few questions- mentioning something about ‘forgetting’ to mark down where Steve had signed him out for a ‘doctor’s appointment’- before handing him a tardy slip for last period.

A few hours later, after a trip to the ice cream parlor and a stop by the park, Steve pulled his truck up to the front of the house. He laughed at the enthusiastic cacophony that came from transporting two young children excited to be home. They were practically out of the car before Steve had even managed to unlatch his seatbelt.

“Alright, everybody inside and downstairs for homework.” Steve called. Pietro and Wanda were racing ahead and neither acknowledged what Steve had said. He chuckled to himself and followed them inside, where a trail of discarded coats, backpacks, and shoes marked the path they took from the front door. From the foyer, down the hall, side trip into the living room, and into the kitchen. Steve’s smile dropped the instant they walked in to the kitchen. Sam was standing there not just scowling but opening glaring at him.

“I have been calling.” Sam said. His voice was deadly calm.

“My phone’s off.” Steve winced. It was still on airplane mode from earlier.

“Where have you been?” He asked. He was halfway through making spaghetti, stirring a pot of noodles.

“Steve took us for ice cream.” Wanda cheered happily. She and Pietro seemed not to notice the tension.

“I waited at the bus stop for almost an hour.” Sam said shortly. “I called the school.”

For an awkward minute the twins had a small snack- how they were still hungry, Steve didn’t know- and chatted amongst themselves in Sokovian. Sam and Steve were left standing there saying nothing, tension building in the room fast enough to choke Steve until he died. As soon as the twins were done eating, he cleared his throat and clapped his hands.

“Let’s get downstairs and start homework.” Steve herded them towards the door. Sam said nothing.

“You can’t just take them and not tell me.” Sam snapped at him once the door to the basement shut behind the twins. “Do you know how worried I was when they didn’t get off the bus?”

Steve winced. “I didn’t think about it; I’m sorry.”

“I’m only your roommate, but you’ve made me a second parent.” Sam accused him.

“That’s not true.”

“I wake them up for school more days than I don’t. I make their lunch. I get them from the bus stop. I make their dinner.” Sam leveled him with a look that made Steve’s insides twist uncomfortably. “I’m not calling you a bad dad- I know you love those kids- but you don’t have the life you had when you got them. Leaving the Army-“

“Was the right call.” Steve insisted. Sam nodded.

“It was. But you’ve been scrambling ever since. To make ends meet, to make sure the twins have it all.”

“I just want the best for them.” Steve sighed, rubbing his face.

They stood in the kitchen silently for a moment. Steve was stewing in his own guilt and self-hatred. He should have realized what he was doing to Sam months ago. Sam was stirring the pasta sauce slowly, focusing on that so that he didn’t have to look over at Steve. Steve recognized the tactic and knew that their conversation wasn’t just about parenting duties.

“What is it?” He asked. Sam took a deep breath and set down the stirring spoon.

“Riley asked me to move in with him.” Sam admitted. “And I told him that I couldn’t. Because of you.”

Steve’s jaw lowered. “Sam, you can’t do that. I’ll make it work.”

“I know. Our relationship is so fucked up. I haven’t told you about my boyfriend of six months because I wasn’t sure how you’d handle it.” Sam admitted, shaking his head. “And I almost screwed up that relationship, even though I love him, because I wasn’t sure you could handle that.”

“I’ll be fine.” Steve insisted. “Move in with him.”

Sam nodded a few times. “I already told him I would. You’re sure you’re going to be okay?”

“Of course.” Steve forced himself to sound more confident about it than he felt.

He would be. He’d find another roommate. He’d find some more time to paint and he’d get back in touch with that gallery owner that had left him a voicemail. His paintings could keep them afloat as long as he had the time to make them. That would have to be what Steve would do. Steve would just fit painting time in to his day somewhere.

Sam had gone back to stirring and not looking at him. “I’m going to be moving out on Saturday.”

“Saturday.” Steve’s stomach dropped. He couldn’t find a roommate that quickly.

“That’s when Riley moves in to his new place.” Sam explained. “We’re going to move in to it together.”

“The twins will miss you.” Steve told him. Sam had lived with them ever since Steve had them.

“I was thinking we’d tell them tonight.” Sam continued. He pulled out the colander and drained the pasta before adding it in to the pot with the sauce. Nothing in his tone matched the sick feeling in Steve’s stomach. “Over my world-famous spaghetti. They both love my spaghetti.”

It would be the worst possible ending to the worst possible day.

“We’ve had such a great day today.” Steve said softly. “I didn’t really want to ruin it with bad news.”

Sam’s smile dropped slightly. “It’s not bad news, Steve. I’m really happy.”

“I’m happy for you too.” Steve corrected. It wasn’t bad news to Sam, of course. Steve was continuing to be the world’s shittiest friend. He forced a smile, clapped Sam on the shoulder, and forced himself to remove the foot from his mouth. “I’m really happy for you, man. And I’d love to meet Riley some time when he’s not hiding under your covers.”

Sam laughed. “We weren’t hiding, you asshole. We were sleeping and you woke us up.”

“You got him in an out of this house without introducing him to anyone. That’s hiding.” Steve accused.

“Okay, maybe a little.” Sam laughed, paused, and then gave Steve a considering look. “We could use some help with boxes on moving day.”

Steve snorted and stole a piece of garlic bread from the bowl. “I’m busy that day.”

Sam just laughed at him. Steve went to the basement door and bounded down the stairs to where the twins were quietly doing their homework. When Steve walked in to the room, they both looked over at him with nervous expressions like they thought they were going to be in trouble. Steve gave them reassuring smiles and settled in to one of the small, child-sized chairs at their work table.

“Are we in trouble with Sam?” Pietro asked him.

“No.” Steve assured him. “We just scared him a little. He’s making spaghetti for dinner.”

“I love spaghetti.” Wanda grinned widely.

“He’s got some news for us and we’re all going to be very, very happy for him, okay?” Steve asked.

Both of the twins nodded solemnly.

“Alright.” Steve nodded with them and then smiled again. “Who needs homework help?”

Wanda looked down at her page and then up at Steve doubtfully. “I think we need Sam for this.”

“It’s long division.” Pietro explained, making a face.

----------------------------------

Steve walked up to the job site with his hat in his hands. Fury was up on the scaffold, which Steve knew meant they were seriously understaffed. Fury hadn’t actually done the painting the entire time Steve had worked for the company. He always said he’d preferred to work behind the scenes.

“I bought the damn thing so that I didn’t have to do the work anymore, Rogers.” Fury had told him once.

And here he was with a sprayer and mask on and he’d had to ditch his standard all black uniform for a tank and khakis. All firsts for Fury, as far as Steve knew. And Steve also knew that Fury was definitely going to resent him for that. Which was proved by the string of less than polite words that left Fury’s mouth when he caught sight of Steve standing on the street looking up at him sheepishly. Fury climbed down the scaffold and over to him.

“You lasted almost a whole week before coming to grovel. I’m shocked.” He wiped sweat from his brow with a towel and scowled at Steve. “Usually it only takes you a day or two.”

Steve shrugged. “There was a weekend in there somewhere.”

“Yeah, the rest of us had to work through it to make up for lost time.” Fury snapped at him.

“I didn’t wreck the scaffold.” Steve defended.

“If it was secured properly it wouldn’t have ended up in the ally.” Fury pointed out. “Which, by the way, cost three grand to replace.”

“I’ll pay you back.” Steve insisted. He watched Fury scrutinize him for a second.

“I thought you said that you didn’t screw that up?” He asked.

“I really need this job back.” Steve admitted. Fury nodded a few times, but his expression didn’t soften even a little bit. After a second he turned away from Steve and walked towards the water cooler. Steve huffed for a second then caved. “So do I have my job back?”

“Logan fire you too?” Fury asked. Steve sighed and then nodded.

“Yeah.”

Fury waited to finish his water before responding. “For now.”

“Thank you.” Steve went to gush but Fury held up a hand.

“There are conditions.” Fury told him. Steve tried not to let the disappointment show on his face.

“Anything.” He said instead. Fury waited, thinking, before he kept going.

“You’ve got too much on your plate.” He said simply. “And it’s making you worse at what you do.”

Steve wanted to argue. He’d told himself he wasn’t going to but found the words bubbling out of his mouth faster than he could tamp them back down. “I tagged and secured that scaffold the exactly the way I’m supposed to. And I’ve not screwed up anything on this S.H.I.E.L.D. job. The schedule is fucked, but that’s not my fault. That started way before we even got here and-”

Fury sighed, ignoring him, and crossed his arms. “When I met you, this wasn’t what you wanted.”

“I want to provide for my family.” Steve told him. He shrugged.

“And when’s the last time you finished a painting?” Fury asked him. “I mean a real painting.”

Steve sighed. “I don’t know. A few months. I haven’t had the time.”

“Stark would pay stupid amounts of money for more of your work.” Fury told him. Stark had been Steve’s main customer since he’d started selling paintings after grad school. To be fair, he was only really competing with Steve’s mom, Natasha, and the local dentist. And he payed better than the other three combined. But, regardless, Steve resented it based on principle.

Fury stared at Steve as Steve continued to stew awkwardly.

“You mentioned conditions?” Steve asked.

“Paint.” Fury demanded.

“That’s literally what you pay me to do.” Steve gestured to the half painted building behind him.

“If you’re going to be a smartass I can send you back over to Logan to beg him for a job.” Fury snapped. Steve winced and shook his head. Fury pinched the bridge of his nose. “Listen. You’ve got talent. You won how many awards before you ended up on my doorstep?”

Steve fiddled with the cap in his hands awkwardly. “Not that many.”

“Plenty.” Fury snapped.

“Plenty.” Steve agreed. He’d just had the right publicity at the right time. It was more luck than talent.

“Your exhibit in Erskine’s gallery made the cover of the New York Times’ style section.” Fury reminded him. Steve sighed. He’d been seventeen. Waiting for his chance to enlist. He’d never seen painting as something he was going to pursue full time.

“Just because Tony bought out the entire place.” Steve pointed out. “The article was about him.”

Fury sighed and looked heavenward for patience. It was a move he pulled on Steve quite a bit.

“I get what you’re trying to say.”

“I don’t think you do.” Fury told him. Steve’s jaw snapped shut. Fury’s tone was never warm, but this was about as soft as it had ever gotten. “You want back on this crew, you call Tony Stark. You commit to sending him some more paintings to exhibit at the Stark Center.”

The Stark Center was a monument to one man’s ego taking over the New York skyline. Steve sighed.

“If I’m working for you full time-”

“Full time?” Fury interrupted him. “Who said anything about full time?”

Steve sighed. “I was working full time for you before. I assumed.”

“You’ll start part time. Get some work to Stark and I’ll reconsider.” Fury told him. Steve balked angrily.

“How is that a fair requirement?” Steve challenged.

“It isn’t.”

“You’re my boss. Shouldn’t you want me full time? It doesn’t make sense to force me to waste time painting something else that won’t even profit off of.” Steve pointed out. Fury just nodded a few times to himself but then he shrugged.

“You’re right. It doesn’t.” He agreed.

“So, than can I co-”

“Call it an annoyance tax.” Fury continued, talking over him. He wiped at the back his neck with a towel and moved back towards the scaffold. “Call me when you’ve gotten Stark three paintings. Then we’ll talk about full time.”

*************************************

“THAT MANIPULATIVE PIECE OF SHI-” Natasha’s voice went from booming to silent as Steve yanked her call off of speaker phone. He placed the phone to his ear- well about two inches from his ear because she was still swearing rather loudly- and ignored her as she ranted. “He has no right to control your life or force you to jump through hoops for a job.”

“Well, he owns the company.” Steve reminded her.

“Still.” Nat snapped. “He’s putting your income on the line. You don’t want to sell Tony your paintings.”

Steve rolled his eyes. She was herding him in to agreeing with Fury and thought he wouldn’t notice.

“You know I don’t have any problem with selling my paintings to Tony.” Steve reminded her. It was what she wanted him to say in the first place. “I’ve sold most of my paintings to Tony. I just haven’t had a lot of time to paint since the twins arrived. Life, you know? I fully intended to paint more.”

Natasha’s smug satisfaction was practically audible over the phone.

“You’ll work for me until you get the paintings done.” Natasha told him primly. Steve thought about it.

“I’ll have to bring the twins with me sometimes.” Steve said finally. “I can’t afford a sitter every day.”

----------------------------------

James once spent four nights roughing it in a the deserts of Central Africa with nothing but the clothes on his back and an assortment of scopes and weapons. He’d been out of contact for a full week and didn’t have a roof over his head for four days. This was during the middle of a record breaking hot summer. Right now, in this moment, James was wondering what he had to do to get back there. Compared to his current set up, that desert was by far the preferable option.

One nurse was already checking his vitals when another one walked in. She was literally in smiley face scrubs, with a gigantic smile on her face, and a headscarf that was fluorescent pink. It was head to toe vibrant enthusiasm and James had to physically hold himself on to the bed to keep from leaping from the window to freedom.

“How are we feeling in here?” The nurse asked him. James leveled her with a glare.

“Well, I am a human pincushion that’s- for some reason- not allowed solid food and she-” James gestured to the first nurse “-just had to check my stool for blood. So, not great?”

“Oh.” Smiley-nurse stopped, still smiling, eyes going wide.

“But I wouldn’t dare speak for how you’re feeling.” James told her, forcing a fake grin.

Her smile barely even faded. “So, no change?”

“No.” James confirmed.

“You’ll be able to have as many solid foods as you’d like within another 9 hours.” The nurse told him, noting some things on his chart. James glanced towards the clock on the wall, mentally tracked nine more hours, and swore because it was going to be the middle of the night. Nobody would give him solid food at three in the morning.

This hospital was going to be more painful for him than literally getting hit by a car. And that included the incredible fun stitching of his head wound and attempted recalibration of this prosthetic arm. These doctors had no idea what they were dealing with. He was going to have to have the whole thing reworked when he got back to his real life. All he needed was a moment alone, which he hadn’t gotten yet because his head injury apparently made him a high risk.

They wouldn’t let him sign himself out either. Something about AMA releases not because allowed on patients that doctors didn’t think were in their right minds. It had been one of the first questions James had asked when he got through the intake process.

“Any memories?” Smiley nurse asked him. Blessedly quiet nurse had left, which James appreciated.

“Nope.” He gave her a hapless shrug and hoped that was convincing enough.

“They’ll come back-”

“Eventually.” James completed with a nod. That’s what the doctor’s had been telling him. Made the sudden recovery he would have when the escape was ready all the more convenient. The nurse gave his shoulder a reassuring pat which James did not appreciate.

“They will, hon.” She told him. She went to leave, which James hated to delay, but he needed to.

“I did have one request.” He asked. He gestured to the TV on the wall. “Can I watch the TV? The doctor said watching it might help dislodge something.”

The nurse glanced at him skeptically. “Let me get you a remote.”

She stepped out of the room momentarily and came back in a few second later with the remote, hitting the power button as she stepped in. The TV blinked to life behind her as she turned to hand it to him. His own face stared back at him. Trying to hide his own panic, James jammed all of the buttons on the remote at once. The nurse looked at him weirdly but said nothing.

“Thanks.” He told her, clearing his throat awkwardly.

Once she left, he jammed the buttons again to try and find the channel.

“What the hell?” He whispered to himself. There was his face, again, plastered all over the daily news.

The Doctors had asked about getting his face out there, James remembered. And the police had taken his photo to show anyone that came looking for him. But he’d resisted their efforts to proactively search for people. For fairly obvious reasons that, he did understand, probably made no sense to the people that were trying to take care of him.

He just had to hope that nobody saw it.

----------------------------------

He’d been absently looking towards the TV while helping Natasha mix dough when he saw it.

“Holy shit.” Steve whispered at the screen, dumbfounded. “That’s him. That’s the guy from work last week. Who busted up the scaffold.”

Natasha looked over at the TV and let out an appreciative whisper. “Oh, yeah. He looks awful.”

Steve felt a little nauseous just looking at him. He didn’t even notice what the asshole’s face was doing on the screen. Biggest Asshole in the World Award? Man Who Kicked the Most Puppies? Did the rest of humanity recognize his douche-baggery and vote him off the planet? Surely Elon Musk could afford a few million to build a rocket to send him in to the depths of space. They could ride in it together for all that Steve cared.

“He doesn’t look that bad.” Clint called from his booth. Steve and Natasha both glared at him.

“Thanks for your support.” Steve drawled. Clint threw him a thumbs up and took another bite of pizza.

“I just feel kinda bad for the guy.” Clint shrugged.

Natasha tossed a bit of dough at him from where they were working in the kitchen.

“What?” Clint caught it and tossed it in to his mouth. “He’s in some hospital or something. It’s sad.”

Steve glanced back towards the TV. “What?”

“The Police found him in the park near downtown. Can’t remember a thing. Haven’t you guys been watching?” Clint ate some more of his pizza. Natasha wiped her hand on a towel so that she could use her hands to turn up the TV. It was some news channel with some middle aged brunette news anchor that smiled too widely for it to look natural.

“Just…sitting there?” Steve asked.

“Dude, I don’t know.” Clint snorted. “Watch the TV.”

Apparently, he had just been sitting there. Drunk. Steve wasn’t surprised by that detail. Completely without clothes. Also not surprising to Steve given the way he’d paraded about that balcony in small bathing shorts and practically nothing else. He’d gotten rid of the towel quickly enough.

“Couldn’t happen to a nicer person.” Steve drawled. He went back to spreading the dough for the pizza.

“Aren’t you supposed to be, like, the kindest person?” Natasha asked.

“He was when we met him.” Clint agreed, nodding.

“What does that say about the two of you?” Steve asked him. Natasha laughed. “That included you.”

Natasha shrugged. “I kind of like being the horrible influence on your life.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be the horrible influence on my life?” Clint asked her. Natasha barely paused in kneading the dough long enough to level with him a look.

“You were already ruined when I found you.” She told him.

Steve was still watching the TV. It was easier than dwelling on the absolute shittiness of his last forty-eight to seventy-two hours. That was frustration he could take out on the dough while pretending it was the face of the man who got him fired from his steadiest gig for two days. And his second steadiest gig permanently. He punched the dough maybe a little too hard and felt his knuckles slam in to the stainless steel counter underneath.

The man had cost him his job. It had gotten him in trouble with Child Protective Services. And he wasn’t even going to have to pay for the scaffold that he’d ruined, Steve was. He wasn’t having to pay for anything. He was sitting in a hospital getting taken care of and resting from his oh-so-stressful Rich Asshole™ lifestyle.

His knuckles hit the counter again. He swore and stepped back. Clint and Natasha were staring.

“It’s not fair.” Steve whined, rubbing his knuckles. “These rich assholes don’t have to pay for anything.”

Clint pointed to the TV. “He has amnesia.”

“And that makes him not rich? Not an asshole? I doubt if I walked down there and demanded he pay me back I’d see a single penny.” Steve pointed out, scowling. It wasn’t fair. “This is probably the closest he’s ever come to facing actual consequences.”

“But you’re mad that he’s not facing your consequences?” Natasha asked, crossing his arms.

“Is that wrong?” Steve asked her. She smirked.

“If I were you, I’d tack on pain and suffering.” She told him. Steve nodded.

“Oh, I am. A ton.” Steve nodded emphatically. He gestured widely. While trying to think of more words. “There’s going to be tons of pain and suffering.”

“You just said he wouldn’t pay you a cent.” Clint reminded him. Steve deflated slightly.

“Who cares about money?” Natasha asked. She grabbed the tray of finished dough and turned.

“Um.” Steve raised a hand. “I do?”

Clint laughed but Natasha just rolled her eyes. There was a pause while she set the huge tray in with the others in the refrigerator. When she came back out, wiping her hands on her apron, she was smirking at them both. Steve knew her well enough to know that it meant trouble.

“You’re being short-sighted.” She told them. “Think about it? You want a couple grand? He could pay that for breakfast and forget about it by brunch. What’s that going to do? No, what you need to do is sink to their level. Play the game by their rules. Take shameless advantage of the situation.”

Steve didn’t say no immediately. “And do what?”

Instead of answering, Natasha turned to Clint. “Can you still forge documents?”

“I am retired from the government life, and the criminal life. I am a law abiding American citizen now.” Clint was shaking his head emphatically while his wife just stared at him. Finally, he sighed and wiped pizza grease from his hands with a napkin. “State or Federal?”

Natasha cheered. “Sam’s moved out, right?”

“Right.” Steve nodded. He didn’t see where she was going with this.

“So you could use some help around the house?” She continued. Steve nodded.

“I could.” He agreed.

“And I could use some extra hands here.” Natasha gestured to her shop. “As soon as you start working for Fury again.”

Steve nodded. “You’ve lost me.”

“All we need is a few documents. Some old family photos. Some of Clint’s old clothes.” Clint started to argue but Natasha had already turned away and ignored him. She tapped a finger to her chin, considering. “We can tell the twins it’s a make believe game. They’ll love it.”

“They will?” Steve asked.

“Wanda’s like me. She’ll think it’s hilarious.” Natasha waved a dismissive hand.

“She’ll think what is hilarious?” Steve questioned. Natasha stopped, smirking at him.

“I have an idea. And you’re going to hate it-” He went to protest that if he hated it then it couldn’t be that good of an idea but she shushed him and kept going. “But you’re wrong because the justice is…poetic…in its own way.”

Steve just stared at her. “You terrify me when you get that look in your eye.”

“Yeah, that’s the same look she had in her eye when she told me we were getting married.” Clint told him. But he didn’t look nearly as worried by it as Steve did. He winked at his wife, making her laugh but making Steve even more unsure.

She went to get more ingredients from the back for the next batch of dough and Steve looked over at Clint. He was back to watching the TV and eating another slice of pizza. The news had changed to a segment about the county fair and Steve scratched the back of his head.

“This is going to be a horrible idea.” Steve said. Mostly to the air, but Clint was still right there.

“Well, yeah.” He agreed. But then he shrugged. “But you know you’re going to go along with it.”

----------------------------------

“I can’t do this.” He told Natasha. She was helping him fix his hair, which was apparently a mess, but Steve didn’t appreciate it. He tried to swat her hands away but she just rolled her eyes at him and said something rude in Russian.

“You can and you will.” She said firmly.

“It’s all here.” Clint told him, handing him the file. “You just need to walk in, introduce yourself, and let the evidence do the rest of the talking.”

Steve was skeptical. “I feel like they’re going to want to get a few more answers.”

“So make some up.”

“I’m not a good liar.” Steve tried to tell them. But Natasha, who’d been there the day Steve talked his way out of getting arrested during a protest, just leveled him with a look.

“Is this man awful?” She asked him. Steve sighed.

“He is.”

“And do you need the extra money and help around the house?” She asked.

“Just until I sell a few of my paintings.” He admitted. It was embarrassing to have to say it out loud. That he didn’t have what he needed to support the kids- not the way he wanted to- without help. He wanted the best for them.

“He deserves this.” Natasha reminded him. “Just remember almost getting decapitated by a champagne bottle whenever you start to doubt yourself.”

He tried it. It did help. “Thanks.”

They left his little bedroom and went downstairs to where the twins were sitting calmly in front of the TV, having a quiet discussion in Sokovian that Steve could only half understand. When they noticed him coming down the stairs, they smiled and Wanda switched over to English.

“You remember the game?” Natasha asked her. Wanda nodded.

“We’re looking forward to Papa coming home.” She said enthusiastically. Steve was both impressed and very, very worried by how well she managed it. “We were thinking about making him a sign.”

Natasha smirked. “I’ll get out the paint.”

“We call him Papa and you, what?” Pietro questioned. He hadn’t moved from the couch.

“You can’t both be Papa.” Wanda admitted with a nod. “I hadn’t thought about that. Isn’t that weird?”

Natasha shrugged. “I didn’t get raised by parents, so I can’t tell you how that works.”

“Maybe we can call him ‘dad’, then.” Pietro considered. He’d added a heavy American accent on it.

Wanda crinkled her nose and laughed. “Dad. It sounds so much more American.”

“Perfect.” Pietro nodded smirking.

Steve had just sat there watching the whole exchange. It wasn’t until all three finally relocated to the dining table that Wanda addressed him directly. She hurried over and gave him a small hug. “Natasha said that he was sick? And we’re also helping him? So, you don’t need to feel bad.”

“It’s still bad.” Steve corrected her. He knelt and gave her a hug. “But thank you for trying.”

Wanda hugged him back. It was a move they were slowly forcing to feel less foreign to them both. He stood and gestured for Natasha to follow him outside. Clint moved in to help with the painting in her absence.

“Tell me I’m not a horrible person.” He requested.

“You’re not a horrible person.” Natasha said immediately. “You’re a desperate person.”

Steve didn’t think he liked that much better.

“Listen.” Natasha sighed. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. But it’s not like you’re going to abuse the poor guy. He’s going to sling pizzas and babysit to pay you back for the cost of your lost job and damaged scaffold. All the while getting to be a part of your little family in there. There are worse punishments to face.”

Steve nodded to himself and rubbed a hand over his face. “You’re right.”

“I know.” She smirked and turned back towards the house. “Now go get your man, Rogers.”

----------------------------------

When the nurse walked in with James’s visitor, he didn’t even have to fake his amnesia. Because he’d literally never seen the man before in his life. And he had the type of face that James tended to remember. Also the shoulders, which was only mildly beside the point. The point being that James did not know him. Like, not even in a ‘we-spent-one-amazing-night-together-after-a-night-of-heavy-drinking’ level know him. But that didn’t stop the blonde man from gasping like an overly dramatic teenager and pulling James into a tight hug.

“This is him,” the man told the nurse, his eyes welling with overdramatic tears. The nurse actually held a hand to her chest she was so touched. James gaped at them both. “This is my husband.”

James could practically watch his carefully constructed plan crumble around him. The other man was smiling so sincerely. Still, he tried. “I don’t know him.”

“It’s okay, honey,” the nurse cooed at him. “We know you don’t remember.”

James shook his head. “You don’t understand.”

“It’s amnesia. The memories will come back. He’s given us a lot of pictures and documents. He’s your husband, honey. We don’t release our patients to just anyone.” She was smiling at him just wide enough to tell him she wasn’t sorry to see him go, though.

“But I don’t know him.” Bucky protested.

“I’m your husband.” The man insisted. “Steve? We’ve been together since we were kids.”

The nurse made a cooing sound. “How romantic.”

“We were neighbors. I don’t remember a time in my life he wasn’t in it.” Steve told her. She melted even more as Steve rattled off a history that was clearly rehearsed and totally fabricated. They had their first kiss a state fair, apparently, and James proposed to Steve the same fair when they were both out of college and the military, respectively.

James had a moment to just gape at him in absolute shock as he rambled on. He looked genuinely shaken to see James. The tears in his eyes looked genuine. If James actually had forgotten who he was, he definitely would have believed the truth was somewhere in those gorgeous blue eyes. He was beaming down at James, leaving James feeling absolutely idiotic in his robe and pajamas.

The nurse continued going around the room, tidying things and talking to the man- who she called Mr. Rogers, who told James his named was Steve- about the process for discharge. James considered briefly that this was an agent from whoever was trying to kill him. It was possible. He held the pen he’d stolen earlier tightly in his grasp. But when the nurse turned her back, ‘Steve’ didn’t strike. He smiled at James even wider and gave his other hand a reassuring squeeze. James didn’t know how to react, so he stood there dumbly and waited for something intelligent to come out of his mouth.

“Hi.”

That wasn’t it.

“Husband?” He managed.

Also not a shining moment for him.

“Hi.” He grinned down at James. “And, yes.”

No. NO, HE WASN’T. James was bordering on frantic because the nurse was handing the blonde man paperwork and talking about them leaving, which was not the plan at all. Absolutely the opposite of the plan. The plan was to stay here. In the hospital. With the camera. Where it was safe. The panic must have shown on his face because it earned his hand another reassuring squeeze.

“I know it’s a lot to take in.” He whispered to James. “But we’ll figure it out.”

Which would be sweet if this was not the man currently kidnapping him out of a mental hospital.

“I don’t know him.” He whispered to the nurse for what felt like the millionth time.

“It’s okay, Honey.” She glanced at James’s husband sympathetically. The nurse handed the signed papers to Steve, but smiled at James. Her eyes kept sliding back to his faux-husband. Clearly, she’d decided who was right in this scenario- which James almost didn’t blame her for since James had played up the whole brain damage thing and maybe not been the best guest- and was going to leave James to fend for himself.

“Don’t you think I need a few more days?” He tried. “For recovery?”

Her smile stayed securely in place, as fake as it was. “You’ll be fine.”

“It will take some time, but the memories will come back eventually.” The nurse told them.

“I brought pictures.” Steve offered a folder awkward. “Um. Pictures. Documents. Things. For proof.”

The nurse cooed over an obviously photoshopped picture of James and Steve’s “wedding” in Las Vegas. The marriage certificate, he mused, was actually a decently passable forgery. Even he was impressed by the quality of the birth certificate they’d managed to put together. For one James Buchanan. Whoever the fuck that was.

He expected the nurse to laugh of the mockery of a honeymoon picture- James didn’t know how exactly she managed to miss that it was literally the same exact picture of his face used for each and every picture. Literally the same one. Two of the photos even had the same fake body- same pose, some clothes, same hairstyle- despite claiming they were taken a year apart.

“I’m sorry we don’t have more photos.” Steve was explaining to the nurse. “There was a fire.”

The nurse clicked her tongue sympathetically. “These are just fine, honey.”

Clearly, she had some place to be. She all but shoved them both out the hospital room herself. James wanted to fight with her. Hoop and holler and scream about being a crazy man that this other crazy man shouldn’t be allowed to take anywhere for any reason whatsoever. But the moment they stepped out into the hallway, they could see the nurse’s station. And, more specifically, the two men standing at the nurse’s station wearing outfits that had to be straight out of the Assassins Monthly magazine. Straight up leather jackets, black slacks, dark sunglasses, and ponytails. James was pretty sure one of them was sporting a bruise- compliments of him- from the fight on the fucking scaffold.

The fucking scaffold. His new husband was the fucking scaffold guy.

James didn’t think now was the time to apologize for the champagne incident.

Maybe he should be more curious about why this man was claiming to be his husband but, honestly, knowing that he was just the scaffold guy and not one of the men trying to kill him (he was reasonably sure, at least) meant that he was suddenly James’s new best friend. And out of the hospital was definitely better than in, given the two goons at the counter. The quicker they got out of there the better.

“So we’re going home?” James asked Steve, turning to make sure his back was to the two guests.

“Are you okay with that?” Steve asked him. His eyebrow raised almost tentatively. He was nervous about this too, then. It was cute. Cuter than James was going ever admit to another person. James looked away and at the floor to hide the smile that threatened to break across his face.

“Um. As long as you remember where it is.” James told him, smiling quietly.

“I do.” Steve assured him.

“That makes one of us.” James snorted derisively. Steve frowned slightly and said nothing.

“It’ll come back, Bucky.” Steve promised. James stopped dead on the sidewalk.

“I’m sorry, what did you just call me?” He challenged.

Bucky.

No. No.

There were lines that he just wouldn’t be able to cross. Even under the guise of amnesia.

“Bucky? It’s what you’ve gone by for as long as I’ve known you.” Steve seemed amused by the confusion. And of course he would, James realized, because he was the one who made up the name in the first place. This was a massive joke to him. Payback for launching bottles of champagne at the scaffold he’d been trying to put up.

What kind of person did that? The stupid nickname, he meant.

“Everything ok?” Steve asked him.

No. No, Steve, everything was most definitely not ok.

“Do you really think I look like a Bucky?” He asked, wrinkling his nose.

“I guess it’s hard to see you as anything but.” Steve shrugged, turning back to continue towards his car. His face was impressively straight. Not a hint of laughter or utter betrayal, which James would expect. James stared after him for a minute before caving and chasing after him.

“Bucky?” He asked again. He could tell his voice was a whine. This time Steve did laugh.

“Bucky.” Steve confirmed with a nod.

They walked to his car- which wasn’t a work truck but an infinitesimal little hybrid thing Bucky didn’t even know the name of- that James had to fold himself inside of in order to fit in. Steve was even bigger than him and looking positively comical climbing into it. The folder with photos in it ended up in James’ lap. He pulled one out but his mind wandered.

For some reason staring at this ridiculously photoshopped picture of a garish Vegas wedding chapel, James was hit with enormity of the fact that somebody was trying to kill him. Somebody was trying to kill him and somebody else had kidnapped him by pretending to be his husband. The first part was definitely his more pressing concern at the moment.

If the goons in the hospital had been any indication, they weren’t taking ‘try’ as a final answer.

Whoever it was knew they had that sting going on.

But they didn’t know where James was going to be taking position for the take down.

And while they knew to take out the support team inside, the aerial unit wasn’t touched.

It was just enough inside information that James wasn’t able to rule out someone on the team.

In his mind, something that glinted like the silver stripes on their uniforms flashed in front of his face as he fell with the scaffold. It wasn’t for sure Strike Team, but was that a chance he was willing to take with his life?

----------------------------------

Steve’s hands were hot and sweaty on the steering wheel the entire drive back to the house. The kids were there with Natasha waiting for them both. He couldn’t believe this was working. He couldn’t believe they’d actually take this man from his hospital bed with nothing more than a few scraps of paper and some photoshopped pictures.

If he wouldn’t have been immediately arrested, Steve would have been tempted to shame the entire hospital staff.

But then they’d gotten outside. Into the car. Nobody came chasing outside to stop them, realizing the grievous mistake that they’d made allowing Steve to take him from their care. And now they were halfway back to the house. And now James sat in the passenger seat flipping through the photos Clint had photoshopped for them for the millionth time.

“Everything okay?” Steve asked. James was staring at their wedding photo intensely.

“I guess it’s just weird. Not remembering.”

He looked so disturbed that Steve felt genuinely sorry for him. Losing that much memory couldn’t be easy. And then to be presented with something fake. The guilt settled in to his stomach like a stone.

Remember the champagne bottles. Steve reminded himself. Remember the other day.

Hard work might actually do the jerk some real good. Maybe. Steve was willing to make him try.

“I promise to help you remember.” Steve promised him. And he meant it. As soon as he was able to get his life in order and this stupid job behind him, Steve would help him as best as he could. Steve would dedicate all of his spare time to the cause of Helping James Whatever-the-Fuck-His-Name-Was the Third Remember How to Be a Bastard. As much as the world would be better off without him, Steve would owe him that much.

“Yeah.” James nodded. He wasn’t looking away from the photo. “Doctor said a couple months.”

Steve offered him a grin. “We can do better than that.”

The job wouldn’t be more than two. Three tops.

They got another five minutes down the road, Steve was now half watching the road, half watching the way James was staring the wedding photo. Still. Had he noticed that they were fakes? Clint hadn’t had a lot of time. Maybe some detail was off and he’d noticed it. Maybe his memories were coming back for real at the sight of something so obviously Not Real.

“You seem pretty fixated on that photo.” Steve pointed out to him. It seemed to startle James.

“Yeah.” He said quietly. “Yeah, sorry.”

Steve glanced back and forth between him and the road. “Something specific you’re looking for.”

“Just looking for something familiar, I guess.” He said quietly.

The rest of the ride was silent. His new husband was staring at their wedding photo- the one Steve faked, for the people at home who forgot that fact. Steve was trying to forget that fact himself to try and lessen the knot of guilt in his stomach.

When a week or two had passed, he’d drop a line through the usual channels to Rumlow. For all his shit, Rumlow was someone that James knew that he could trust. Together, Rumlow and James would be able to track down the leak. Fix this.

And then they’d finally get Ivan Abramovich. Finally.