Bucky Barnes was notorious in Hollywood for being a bit of a hothead. Clint Barton knew this better than anyone because it made his job as his publicist hell, which was why he once again found himself in the emergency room, watching the doctor pluck shards of glass out of Bucky's shoulder.
"You're gonna mess up that pretty face of yours if you keep up like this." Dr. Banner said as he began to clean the wound.
Bucky winced at the sting of the alcohol on his skin. "I heal quickly."
Clint looked up from his phone where he was attempting to do some damage control on his client's latest fuck up. "That's not the point, Buck. Seriously how hard is it to keep your temper under control?"
"He got what he deserved."
"And you got the shit beat out of you in the process."
"That's an overstatement."
"You had napkins hanging out of your nose."
"I never said there weren't any casualties."
"Dammit Bucky, this was supposed to be my night off!" Clint pouted, slouching further into his chair to knock his head on the wall in frustration. He was still in his pajamas after rolling out of bed to take Bucky's drunken, bloody ass to the clinic. Updates kept popping up on his phone, each cheerful little ding reminding him just how utterly fucked he was. He glanced briefly at the latest one.
"Well that's just fan fucking tastic. Guess what's trending on Twitter." He turned the screen to show them the hashtag #Buckyhasnochill popping up attached with numerous pictures of Bucky's epic beat down.
"Ain't that the truth." Dr. Banner laughed dryly as he began stiching up the cut.
Bucky narrowed his eyes at him when a horrifying thought suddenly crossed his mind. "Ten bucks says Stark already had something to say about it."
"Did you really expect anything different?" Clint said, scrolling through the A-lister's feed where the lasted update was posted.
Tony Stark StarkIndustries
That was truly an epic beating BuckyBarnes. You'll have to teach me your skills next time you decide to make an ass out of yourself. #Buckyhasnochill
Bucky narrowed his eyes and clenched his fists around the metal examination table. Tony Stark and Bucky Barnes were two of the most popular actors of their time. Both were red carpet regulars who had starred together in a number of explosively popular movie franchises that made the critics go wild. On camera they were like old pals, congratulating each other at every award show with firm handshakes and fake smiles. Naturally most of the internet knew it was total BS.
"Tony Stark can kiss my ass." Bucky said as Dr. Banner finished bandaging his shoulder and dismissed them.
"For my sake, keep that opinion to yourself." Clint said, filling out the last of the medical forms. "You've already caused enough damage tonight."
Bucky pouted, sliding off the table to his feet. "Come on, it's not that big a deal."
"You shoved a camera up the paparazzi's ass."
"What did you expect me to do? He threw the first punch!"
"Which is the only reason you're not in jail right now, might I add." Clint argued, turning to face him in the hall. "Look, I can't be your agent and play babysitter at the same time. I don't get paid enough for this shit."
Bucky gave him a skeptical look as he gently pulled on his leather designer jacket, wincing as it brushed up against his injured shoulder. Clint sighed in pity and stepped closer to straighten the collar with calloused hands. "Just promise to lay low tomorrow, okay? No more late night partying until that shoulder heals."
Bucky shrugged and rolled his eyes in annoyance but the slight twice of his mouth betrayed his true emotions. Clint immediately recognized the expression he always wore whenever someone said something like "drive safe" or "take care of yourself" that implied that they genuinely cared for his well-being. It was the drawback to being famous, never really knowing who was a true friend or who would turn around and stab you in the back the moment it benefited them.
"Whatever you say, Captain." Bucky said, giving him a mock salute as he turned to the waiting SUV parked outside. Clint watched them drive off with a sudden burst of inspiration, pulling out his phone to dial a number he hadn't used in years. He waited patiently for the line to pick up, the cold winter air making his breath visible in the light of the lamp post overhead.
"Agent Barton, isn't this a surprise." The deep voice on the line answered. "We haven't heard from you in a while. I heard your client made quite the scene tonight. Again."
"Actually, that's why I'm calling. I need your help."
It was midnight on the other side of the country in a small Brooklyn neighborhood. All the while, the sound of smooth jazz music could be heard out the open window of a third floor apartment, where Steve Rogers could be found dancing wildly around the kitchen while making pancakes. He was grinning ear to ear, pancake batter and whipped cream smeared on the apron that clung tightly to his muscular figure. Beside him on the counter a pair of kittens sat perched, watching him with interest. The smaller of the two narrowed his green eyes mischievously, raising one sleek black paw to stick in the batter while Steve was distracted. Noting this, the much larger fluffy blond tabby swiftly batted his brother's paw away who playfully cuffed him over the ear in response. Steve smirked at them, briefly stepping away from the stove to fill the bowls labeled Thor and Loki with cat food. By the time Steve had finished making his own meal, the brothers had settled down by the heater, fast asleep having satisfied their own appetite. Steve paused through a mouthful of chocolate covered pancakes to answer the phone buzzing in his pocket.
"Steve Rogers."
"You sure are up late tonight, Cap. Not getting into too much trouble I hope."
"Not unless you count eating my weight in pancakes to be particularly troublesome." Steve laughed, pausing to take a sip of coffee. "Now what does the director of SHIELD require of me at this hour?"
"I got a job for you. I know its late notice but the contact seems a bit desperate."
"Is the subject in danger, sir?"
"Not exactly. He's mainly a danger to himself."
Steve frowned, beginning to understand where this was going. "Alright who are we dealing with here? Accident prone pop star or Hollywood hothead?"
"The latter, unfortunately." Fury said. "Our contact has requested a bodyguard for his client, Bucky Barnes. I'm sure you've heard of him."
Steve resisted the urge to spit his coffee everywhere. That was an understatement. It may not seem like it from his line of work but Steve Rogers was a complete fan boy. He'd seen nearly all the cult films a million times over and he would be the first to tell you that Bucky Barnes was an acting legend. Not to mention easy on the eyes either. Sure he knew the rumors. Bucky's whole off screen persona was pretty much determined by his phenomenal temper. But Steve had worked for enough famous people with bad reputations to know that what the media portrayed wasn't the whole truth. Every one of them had a back story that they kept hidden from the world. It wasn't fair to judge Bucky too quickly.
"Yeah I know the one."
"Then I'm sure you know that this will be a challenge."
"Sir, might I remind you of the time you had me working for Wade Wilson? You want to talk about troublesome-"
"Don't you sass me, Rogers." He heard Fury cough over the line in what was probably an attempt to hide his laughter. "But seriously, you should read the latest report on this guy."
Steve pulled his laptop towards him and pulled up the search engine for the latest celebrity updates. "Whatever he did, I'm sure it can't be that bad-" He trailed off, eyes widening as he watched the video that had just been posted. It documented a rather overzealous team of paparazzi following Barnes through a club and filming him as he danced erotically on stage with a group of scarcely clad dancers. About halfway through the song a rather angry man claiming to be one of the dancer's boyfriends dragged Bucky's drunken ass off the stage, and a fight quickly ensured. Bucky took quite a few hits with a broken beer bottle before he knocked the man out cold and stumbled out of the club to where the paparazzi had been waiting. Beaten, bloody and royally pissed off, he swiftly grabbed the first camera that had been shoved in his face, and in a move he'd obviously practiced in movie stunts before, Bucky knocked the man's legs out from under him and used his knee to literally shove the camera up the man's rear end.
Steve's eyebrows rose to the top of his head as he slowly closed the lid of his laptop. "And here I thought I'd seen everything."
He could almost feel Nick Fury's smirk through the phone. "You'll still do it though won't you?"
"You know me." Steve said. "When do I start?"
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A/N: This story is also posted at Archive of Our Own
- Glaring