Safe with me

Chapter 2: Rocky Road sucks so much ass

Before Bucky and Steve depart, you're given instructions to come to the Avengers tower at 16:00, to collect a tracking ID and closed channel comms device. It's an order, not a request, and you chafe at the directive. Frustration simmers, as the strings steering your life are ripped from your fingers and handed to the man in front of you.

Bucky is unrelenting, briskly efficient as he fires directions.

"The driver will meet you in front of this building at exactly 15:45. His name's Harold Hogan, goes by Happy. He's 6'0, dark hair and eyes, and he'll be wearing a black suit, white button up, and black tie. Assume he'll have sunglasses on. When he introduces himself, you need to request that he remove the glasses so you can see his face clearly, and make sure you ask for two forms of ID. Forcing people to prove who they are is a habit you need to learn. Any questions?"

Everything's moving too fast. Buzzy white noise fills your ears when your brain kicks back, trying to shut down. It offers a brief respite, until you realize you've completely spaced off, while Bucky stares impatiently. It's impossible to hide the weariness in your response.

"No. No. No questions."

After a lengthy and silent inspection, Bucky appears mostly satisfied. Giving Steve a look, he taps his wrist, and jerks his head toward the door. "We're leaving."

Okay. Apparently he's finished with you.

Steve has the effortlessly polished manners of a man who has spent much of his life in the spotlight, and he gives you an encouraging smile, extending his hand one final time.

"Thank you, Captain Rogers."

"Please, call me Steve. Expect we'll be seeing more of each other. Less formal is better, long as you don't mind." When he clasps your hand in both of his, you choke back a hysterical laugh, his giant paws dwarfing your fingers.

"Thanks Steve. Less formal is great."

Releasing his hand, you look to Bucky and brave an attempt at polite conversation. "And you? Barnes? Sergeant? What do you prefer?"

"I prefer things extremely formal." He answers solemnly, already walking out the door. "Call me Sir, or maybe Fucking Sir, or I ain't answering."

Steve blows out a long breath. "Jesus. Just call him Bucky, but if he pisses you off, he'll answer to 'hey asshole' as well. He hears it all the time."

You can hear Bucky laughing all the way down the hall.

*****

At exactly 15:45, you step into the plaza in front of your office, blinking owlishly in the bright afternoon sun. After being chained to your desk for the past 24 hours, with nothing but a dingy fluorescent light and the stale forced air of the office, the gentle breeze and warm light feels like heaven. Tilting your face to the clear blue sky, you let the sunshine soak into your skin.

"Excuse me, Miss? Afternoon, name's Hogan – Sergeant Barnes asked me to bring you to the tower."

Happy Hogan mirrors Bucky's description perfectly, an oddly charming teddy bear, rumpled around the edges. Catching your reflection in the shiny lenses of his wide black sunglasses, you're momentarily abashed at your disheveled appearance. However, the feeling is fleeting; you're so damn tired, you just can't be fucked to care.

Trying your best to retain some level of professional dignity, you offer a hand in greeting, digging deep for a confident smile. Happy shoots you a grin and gives you a slightly sweaty handshake in return, before guiding you to the black Mercedes parked at the curb.