Family Matters
"No."
Stane blinked. A frown flickered across his features, the movement stiff as though the muscles were unused to express such an emotion, and expertly erased before it had a chance to truly sink into the skin a second later.
"No," Bucky repeated, his voice firm and unyielding.
A slow smile settled on the older man's face that did nothing to hide the cold calculation in his eyes. Obadiah Stane was not a man used to being denied, hadn't been even before he had become the head of one of New York's most influential families in the wake of Howard Stark's death. Bucky would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy giving the man a taste of long overdue disobedience.
Natasha may have been on to something when she complained about that supposed death wish of his. Not that Bucky would ever admit that out loud.
"120'000 then," Stane said with an acquiescing nod, as though this was some grand gesture from a selfless king to his loyal guard.
It was probably meant to be inspiring but all it really did was make Bucky wish he'd never left Hydra. Considering the only thing those sadistic bastards treated worse than their enemies were their own damn men, that was really saying something.
"Tempting," Bucky deadpanned in the dry tone he usually reserved exclusively for the weakest, most idiotic of their numerous enemies—the ones that tried to prove their lack of mental capacities by kidnapping Tony Stark.
"But with all due respect," which Stane hadn't earned much of as far as Bucky was concerned, "I'm still gonna have to say no."
Stane leaned back in his way too throne-like desk chair with a heavy sigh. Bucky didn't call the guy out on the worst Godfather imitation he'd ever seen because he did have some sense of self-preservation, suck it, Tasha! but it was a near thing.
"Mister Barnes," the head of the Stark family began again, the words all but dripping with patronisation.
Bucky didn't bristle, had too much self-control to clench his hands into fists or make some other rookie mistake, but something must have shown on his face anyways, causing Stane's ever-present bodyguard to shift slightly.
"I'm sorry," he interrupted, mostly to be an annoying shit and maybe a little because if Stane said one more word Bucky was gonna fucking murder him right there. And Tony hated it when he got blood on the carpet because he would have to justify that to Pepper later, so. "But are you seriously offering me money to break up with my boyfriend?"
Bucky didn't bother keeping the accusation out of his voice and it payed off. Something shifted in Stane, turned the benevolent emperor he was trying to project into a stone wall of emotionless business transactions. Moments like these were what made Bucky wonder whether Stane was a sociopath sometimes, not that he cared either way. Stane wasn't his boss after all.
"Let's drop the pretence for a moment, Barnes," Stane said unamused. "You've been sniffing around my territory for months now and as amusing as your attempt at being covert is, I'm running out of patience. Now for some reason Tony actually seems to care about you-"
Yeah, after being constantly surrounded by cold-hearted, greedy bastards like you, I wonder why that is, Bucky thought bitterly.
"-which is why I believe this to be the best solution for everyone involved."
Bucky raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "Paying me off to break Tony's heart is the best solution you can think of?"
"Well," Stane drawled, a satisfied smirk on his lips that sort of made Bucky want to rip his throat out. "I figured you might prefer it to the alternative. Besides how do you think Tony would handle watching you die? Especially if he thought it was his fault?"
It took every ounce of training Bucky had ever received to keep from shooting the smarmy bastard right where he sat. As far as manipulation went it was a cheap shot, and an obvious one on top of that. But that didn't stop Tony's face from flashing through Bucky's mind, beautiful, brown eyes wide and tearful and so guilty. Tony who tried so hard to be the man Stane demanded him to be. Tony who would work himself to death if he thought it would please the people he loved. Tony who was still just a child with a too big heart, left alone in an unforgiving world.
The thought of Tony blaming himself, killing himself over his death made Bucky feel cold in a way that had nothing to do with the cool temperature Stane preferred in his office.
It was sheer stubbornness that enabled Bucky to school his countenance into the most arrogant, uncaring expression he could muster.
"Sorry, Mr. Stane," he rose from the uncomfortable chair, "I'm flattered that you're this invested in my single status but you couldn't afford me if you tried."
And with one last, obnoxious wink over his shoulder Bucky walked briskly towards the door. He half expected Stane to draw his gun, threaten him some more or just plain shoot him in the back of the head but the man simply watched him go, a wordless promise of death in his eyes.
The door to Stane's office closed with the softest click, and a moment later expensive black leather shoes fell into step besides Bucky.
"Looks like you were right," Bucky commented without turning to face his silent companion. "It's definitely Stane."
"You have no proof."
It was a statement, not a question.
Bucky shrugged. "People don't call me to get proof, Rogers. You certainly didn't."
It was true enough after all. You don't hire a contracted killer to find a traitor if you want them convicted. You hired Bucky when you'd already judged and found them guilty.
"He'll leave for Miami in two weeks. Until then you should watch your back."
"I always do," Bucky glanced at his watch, absently wondering whether he could get back into bed with Tony before the hyperactive genius realised he'd been gone. "But I'm not too worried. Men like Stane, they don't make mistakes. He'll want to plan this carefully, not rush it. He knows Tony would search for my murderer, he'll want to be prepared for that."
Rogers tilted his head in acknowledgement.
"Your assignment is almost over," the man commented after a moment and it was impossible to miss the implied When are you gonna disappear? in it.
To be fair, it was a valid question. Bucky had been hired to get involved in the Starks' business and though that had never explicitly included seducing the lonely heir, the option had never been off the table either. And sure, Bucky would be lying if he said he hadn't considered it once or twice, after finding out that the drunk kid whom he'd pulled out of an escalating bar fight and let sleep on his couch was in fact the Tony Stark. Bucky was good at working with what he had and that had been a perfect in if he'd ever seen one.
Of course that had been before Tony had calmly asked him if this was part of the usual Winter Soldier routine or meant as a special treat right after the first time they'd had sex. And no, Bucky had not choked on his own spit in response, no matter what Tony said.
Not that Bucky was going to share those particular details with an overprotective bodyguard of all people.
"New York is growing on me," Bucky said instead. "I'm thinking of sticking around for a while."
"Playing house?" Rogers asked, his face expressionless but eyes sparkling with amusement.
"You know me," Bucky grinned, a twisted, merciless, little thing. "Cleaning? Taking out the trash? It's what I live for."
And with those words Bucky took off, intent on starting breakfast before Tony was awake enough to complain about being abandoned.
He had almost reached the top of the stairs when a sharp "Barnes!" made him turn around again, hand already hovering over his gun holster.
Rogers stared up at him from the ground floor, blue eyes glinting like ice on a winter's morning.
"I would've killed you if you'd taken the offer."
It wasn't a threat, not even a promise. Just another matter-of-fact statement from a bodyguard with a dedication that bordered on obsession. Bucky stared back at the man that had been his childhood friend once, a long time ago, back when the lines in the sand had still been so incredibly clear.
"I know," Bucky answered because it was true.
I would've let you, remained unsaid because that's the answer he would have given once upon a time, and Bucky wasn't sure he believed it anymore. He knew for sure Rogers wouldn't have. That was the price they'd payed for becoming the men they were today.
Bucky thought of the way Tony's entire face lit up when he smiled a real smile, the one with the crinkles around his eyes and the tongue pressed behind his teeth, and he couldn't bring himself to regret it.
Tony already sat at the kitchen table when Bucky entered the room, bowed over what looked like his second cup of coffee, bleary eyes staring at his surroundings in wonder, as though he couldn't figure out where he was or how he got here.
Let it be said that Bucky did not lean against the door frame and watch his adorable boyfriend with a sappy smile for three whole minutes. Because Bucky didn't do sappy and words like 'adorable' weren't even a part of his vocabulary. But when Tony turned his head a little and became aware of Bucky's presence, he did that thing where he blinked rapidly to keep his eyes open and tried to glare at the same time, which always ended in an odd, squinting expression that was definitely not cute. God, he really was that far gone, wasn't he?
Powerless to stop himself, or be all that bothered by it for that matter, Bucky quickly crossed the distance between them and pulled his only half-caffeinated boyfriend into his arms.
"Wis," said boyfriend mumbled into the fabric of Bucky's sweatshirt and promptly buried his face in Bucky's shoulder.
"I'm sorry, doll," Bucky laughed and placed an indulgent kiss on the top of Tony's head. "But I have no idea what you just said."
Tony lifted his head with a protesting groan.
"Kiss!" he repeated impatiently. "You 'ere gone. D'dn't get my morn'n' kiss!"
The barely audible murmur made Bucky laugh, a ridiculous warmth blooming in his chest.
"Oh, you didn't, did you?" he teased. "Whatever are we gonna do about that, sweetheart?"
Tony stretched his head up a little but Bucky easily evaded the clumsy movement.
"No fair!" Tony half-pouted, half-glared and really, if anything wasn't fair it was that look, all wide-eyed pleading and strong hands clinging to Bucky's shirt. It made Bucky want to bundle his boyfriend up in one warm, cuddly blanket burrito and lock him up somewhere far, far away, where the cruel voices and cutting remarks could never reach him.
But he couldn't do that, not when Tony shone so brightly with the spotlight stuck on him, not when his mind ran too fast to ever accept a standstill. So instead Bucky closed the distance between them, pressed a gentle kiss on Tony's forehead, his eyelids, his cheeks. Tony hummed in satisfaction, lips twitching into that soft, open smile that Bucky only ever got to see in moments like these, and really, how was he supposed to resist that?
"Missed you," Tony whispered against Bucky's lips, the words tiny, like a secret he hadn't meant to share.
And Bucky loved Tony, loved when he was loud and vibrating, loved Tony when he was caught up in his own head for too long, all sad, melancholy sighs and empty stares but this. This wasn't just Tony, this was them. This was Tony and Bucky, what they had found in each other. What they could be together.
And Stane had dared to threaten this. To taint it.
Bucky felt his arms tightening around Tony almost on their own accord, an silent I love you on his lips he didn't quite know how to say out loud.
"Missed you back," he mouthed into the air between them and maybe it wasn't perfect, maybe it never would be, but it was right. It was so much more than Bucky ever thought he would get.
Stane died in a car crash on an abandoned road two weeks later. It was an accident, of course. Bad luck, wrong place, wrong time, nothing more. Nothing personal.
Bucky soothingly carded a hand through his sleeping boyfriend's hair and switched off the news channel with an unrepentant smile on his face.
No, nothing personal at all.
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