"We're here sir."

Steve could hardly believe what was seeing. He'd never had much growing up. The apartment he shared with Sam was the most expensive thing he'd ever been able to afford and they lived in a terrible part of New York.

Steve had had to use his pass at a tall gate at the edge of the grounds before they could even pass through onto the property. After driving through several acres of dense trees, they had finally pulled into the secluded drive of a vast, two-story, light blue painted brick estate. The roof was a pale grey. Steve could spot a slightly smaller, but still two-story, guesthouse behind and perpendicular of the main house. Like the main building, it had an outdoor terrace on the second floor. Amongst the hedges circling the homes were several different types of roses.

Steve stepped out of the car on to the smooth pavement, grateful not to be sitting down any longer. He took a long look at the house. Judging by the number of windows he could see there had to be at least a couple dozen rooms.

Fury was waiting for them on the steps just outside the front door with a man he didn't recognize close behind him. The man was a tall, well-muscled, blonde dressed in a crisp white button up and black jeans. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, showing off the muscle in his lower arms. He seemed relaxed and was shooting them a wide, friendly grin.

"Nice to see you again Mr. Rogers." Fury greeted him, giving him a short nod. "I'm so glad you were willing to accept the job. Were you able to go through all the documents."

"Oh! Yea, just one sec…." He reached back into the passenger side door to grab the folder he'd dropped on the ground. He ran up and handed it to Fury who pulled out the documents and nodded occasionally as he looked over them.

Steve rubbed his hands on his jeans nervously. He hoped he didn't look too much like he'd spent the night in a club. The blonde haired man just behind Fury was looking at something behind Steve. Before Steve could figure out what it was Fury gave a final nod and put everything back into the envelope.

"Everything here seems to be in order. This man behind me is Clint Barton. He doesn't act like it but he's head of Mr. Barnes' security. As you've probably figured out, I'm his head of staff and Coulson over there is my assistant head of staff and in charge of maintaining the grounds. Anything you need you can come to any one of us."

Steve shot a glance at Coulson who was already pulling his bags out of the trunk. He'd pegged him as just being a driver, nothing as official as second in charge of the estate staff.

"Come on in and we'll give you the tour."

"Sir?" Clint's voice was rough. Fury paused in his step to shoot him a questioning look. "I was thinking I might stay out here and help Phil with those bags. They look awfully heavy."

Fury snorted, shooting Clint an amused glance. "Do whatever you want Barton. I just expect you in my office in," Fury glanced down at his watch, "an hour and a half to go over some of your new assignments."

Clint distractedly nodded his acquiescence, already heading over to the car. Phil paused in his work at his approach, giving him a cheery hello and laughing at some remark Clint made. Steve surmised the two must be good friends.

Fury shook his head, muttering to himself.

Steve followed him into a large white – tiled foyer with a curved staircase off to the left heading to the second floor. He was quiet as Fury showed him around the richly decorated, open floor plan home. Fury pointed out various doors that led to his office, the dining area, and an honest to goodness ballroom - though it looked as if it hadn't had much use lately. He was still processing that one when they wandered into the large kitchen where a small, curvy red haired woman was doing… something… with a bird Steve didn't recognize. She barely looked up at their entrance.

"Rogers, this is Natasha Romanoff. She's the lovely woman who keeps us all fed. I hope you don't have any allergies or aversions to certain animal parts cause she likes to be creative sometimes." Natasha flipped Fury off, telling him something in Russian that just made Fury chuckle.

"It's nice to meet you ma'am." Steve stuck his hand out instinctively to shake. Natasha just stared at him, a flicker of amusement in her eyes, and held up her hands so Steve could see the juices and herbs covering her hands.

"Oh, right. Sorry." Steve flushed.

"Don't worry about it. First impressions are always a tad… drop em Fury." She redirected her gaze to Fury, who was trying to sneak some food. "Lunch should be ready in a couple of hours. You can wait till after your meeting with Clint." She started shooing them out of the kitchen.

"How do you already know about that?" Fury sounded exasperated.

Natasha just shrugged. "I have my ways. Now get out. I need to focus on this new recipe I'm trying."

"Just try not to kill us."

Fury grabbed Steve's shoulders and directed him back out into the hallway towards the living room.

"Lets go Rogers. Plenty more to see."

"Sir? In the packet it said I would need to use my card to get into certain rooms? Also, where will I be sleeping? Upstairs?"

Fury paused, staring Steve down with his one good eye. "You are not to go upstairs unless Mr. Barnes gives you express permission. Is that clear?" Steve nodded quickly. That stare was intimidating.

"Good. Now, you'll notice certain doors on this floor that require key card access. Your card will let you in to the locked doors on the west wing but you are not allowed near the east wing doors. Is that clear?"

"Why, what's there?"

"Look Rodgers, it's forbidden. If you feel like pissing off Mr. Barnes by trying to get in be my guest." That was the last thing Steve was interested in doing at the moment. "Look, that's all you need to know. As for where you're sleeping, you'll be in the guesthouse just behind the main house. I'm sure you'll find it to your liking."

They passed through the large glass doors in the living room that led onto a wrap around porch with white pillars acting as posts. The view from the back porch was stunning. There was a rose garden and large pool in the… Steve wasn't sure what to call it, backyard felt too simple. Steve thought the pool was a touch unnecessary as he could see the waterfront just a half-mile away.

Just as they made it to the guesthouse Fury's phone started going off. He flipped it open and answered with a curt. "Fury." He didn't say anything as he listened to whoever was on the other line but his expression grew irritated. Steve wandered over to the poolside, trying to avoid accidentally eavesdropping.

So far he had only seen four people in the home. The rumors that the 'Prince' kept a short staff seemed overly accurate. It was a bit baffling that they were able to manage such a large estate on their own and keep it so well kept. Fury had mentioned briefly that they had a couple of maids that have worked for the family for years come up once a week.

"Understood." Fury hung up.

"Shit. I need to handle this. Rogers." Steve twisted around to look at Fury who was already heading back inside. "I trust you can figure yourself out from here. We'll have lunch in a couple of hours in the dining room. Mr. Barnes should be present so try and clean yourself up a bit. Hangover is really not a good look."

Steve flushed. He'd been trying so hard not to let it show how hung over he was. He should probably take a shower.

Swiping his key card at the front door, Steve wandered into the slightly cozier but still expansive guest home. Wandering room to room to get himself acquainted he noted a soft leather couch and flat screen in the living area, his own kitchen with a gas stove and modern appliances, and a laundry room. He had everything he needed, apart from groceries. His favorite find was the study on the second floor next to the bedroom. It was full of books and a daybed was set up in the windowsill for reading. He ran his fingers along the spines of the well-worn books. Before Steve became a journalist he had wanted to write novels. As a kid, when things were rough, he used to imagine far off lands where magical things happened and everyone got their happy ending. He even made up his own short stories, drawing the pictures himself. His mother had loved them. During the chaos surrounding her death they'd been lost. Since then he lost the urge to write another novel, bitterly reminded of his mother every time he tried.

Steve shook off the melancholy. He needed a shower. In the bedroom next door, there was a tablet and recorder on the dresser and his bags were placed on slick hardwood floors at the foot of the wardrobe across the room. A set of dark grey low chairs and a glass coffee table were placed in front of a gas fireplace. The bed was a four-poster with deep blue bedding that was silky to the touch and more pillows than any self-respecting man had need for. Steve quickly shed his clothes and stepped into the shower. The water pressure was fantastic. His and Sam's shower back at their New York apartment was leaky with poor pressure and only managed two settings: boiling and freezing. He'd become accustomed to short showers but with the warm pressure on his back he thought he could afford to indulge himself a bit for once.

He lost track of the time he spent under the spray and forced himself to get out when his hands started pruning. Wrapping a fluffy white towel around his waist and using another to dry his hair, Steve wandered back into the room to search through his bags for something presentable. Having utterly failed at all his other first impressions he could at least try and get this one right. He pulled on fitted khakis, a brown belt, and a white v neck t-shirt. After searching through his bags for several moments he finally found a pair of shoes that weren't scuffed.

Fixing his hair in the mirror he could see the red ring around his eyes. The shower had helped; it was less obvious than he was still slightly hung over. Steve stared at his reflection in the mirror, fussing with his hair. He usually didn't care much about his appearance but he felt intimidated by the wealth surrounding him. Apart from Coulson's off the rack suit, the other members of the staff had been dressed in fashionable business casual attire. Even Clint's jeans looked nicer than Steve's best suit. Looking back through his bags he pulled out a blue blazer. It was probably overkill but better safe than sorry.

A glance at the digital clock on the cherry oak bedside table told him he still had about forty-five minutes before lunch. Well... there was time to kill. He might as well look around the main house again.

Retracing his steps in the main house, Steve explored various rooms he'd passed during the tour and tried to make a mental map of them in relation to the ones Fury had shown him. At some point Steve was sure he'd made a wrong turn because he didn't recognize the area of he house he was in. Steve grumbled to himself. This is why nobody needs fifty rooms in one house.

He wandered until he found himself in front of a door with a pad for a key card. Steve pulled his out and swiped it but the blinking light stayed red. He must have somehow wandered over to the east wing. The place Fury had justtold him to stay away from. He glanced down at his watch. He had five minutes before he was supposed to meet the others for lunch. If he just walked back the way he came and took the left instead of the right when he got to that one painting…

A sudden grip on his shoulder caught Steve off guard; spinning him around pushing him up against the door he had just tried to get into. Before he could react he had an arm at his throat, pinning him against the door and crushing his larynx.

"What the hell are doing here?" The voice was low and dangerous.

Crap. He was about to get fired on his first day, if whoever this was didn't kill him first. He stared into cold, flint blue eyes that were glaring murderously up at him from under dark furrowed eyes. He tried to respond but the pressure on his throat wouldn't let him form coherent words.

The man snarled at him, releasing just enough pressure to let Steve answer.

"This area of the house is off limits. Now who the fuckare you and why should I let you walk away?"

"Steve." He choked out. "My name is Steve Rogers. I got lost. Could you please let me go? We can go find Fury, he'll clean this whole mess up." Steve wasn't weak by any means, but he would prefer to avoid a fight if he could help it. The man considered him for a moment before stepping back and letting him go. Steve barely had a moment to catch his breath before the man was shoving Steve in front him.

"Walk. Fury better have a damn good reason for an outside agent to be wandering around."

Agent? The hell. Steve tried to look over his shoulder but the man just pushed him forward again yelling at him to 'look front'. It was a tense few minutes as Steve was directed with rough shoves back towards the dining area where Fury, Clint and Coulson were already sitting and Natasha was carrying in several plates from the kitchen.

Natasha was the first to notice, cursing as she dropped the plates on the table and walked slowly towards them with her hands up as if she was calming a spooked animal.

"Easy James. Let him go. He's not here to hurt anyone." Her voice was quiet, soothing.

The man behind him, James, gripped the back of his jacket, shaking him roughly.

"Who is he?"

"He's new. Fury hired him to help you and Bucky. Remember?"

Steve was officially confused. Who was Bucky? James… James Barnes. Was she trying to say that they guy going all commando on him was the man he'd been hired to interview?

"Bucky needs to be protected. You should have cleared him with me before you let him wander around, especially in the east wing. How can I be sure that he isn't a threat?"

"Shit Rogers. I thought I told you to stay out of there." That was Fury, glaring darkly at him. Was now really the time to be giving him hell? Shouldn't they be focusing on handling the guy who had just tried to choke him out?

"Can it Fury." Natasha shot him a look.

"Look." Steve piped up. "I'm just here to do a job. I don't want any trouble." He buckled to his knees at the sharp elbow to his back. This guy was out of control!

He felt warm breath at his ear as James spoke. "You need to shut up. As far as I'm concerned you're trespassing and a threat."

"James. You need to calm down." Natasha was closer now, hands reaching out to grab James at the first chance she got. "Do you remember that conversation we had last week? That someone would be coming to live with us for awhile who was going to help Bucky get strong again so you didn't have to protect him so much."

"I remember…"

Natasha nodded quickly. "Good. That's good. How about you let him go and you and I can go talk this over."

"Fine." Steve felt the man step back and took the chance to back away to the corner of the room. Getting his first good look at the man, he screamed dangerous. Under normal circumstances Steve would have found the short dark hair, high cheekbones and compact form attractive, even with the now obviously missing arm. Instead he couldn't help feeling terrified. He was slighter than Steve but held himself in a way that even with one arm promised he could kill you more ways than you could imagine with barely a thought.

Natasha reached up and gathered his face in her hands muttering to him in Russian. The whole room was still for several moments. Clint and Phil were still sitting at the table but they were tense, ready to move at the slightest provocation. From this angle Steve could see the kitchen knife Clint was palming.

There was a nearly visible shift in the room when James relaxed, all trace of danger diminished. Steve started to relax but clenched up again as the man headed towards him. He seemed like a totally different person; less angry and more open, with a bashful grin on his face.

"Sorry about that man. James is like that with new people. Don't take it personally. He's just protective. My name is Bucky Barnes. I understand you'll be staying with us awhile to try out this crockpot therapy my friends came up with." He shot a wry grin at the others in the room. Steve was getting whiplash. The hellis going on.

"It's nice to meet you."

He stuck his hand out to Steve who just stared in disbelief and started calculating the fastest way back to his little New York apartment.

"Fury. We need to talk."

Steve ignored the outstretched hand and practically ran from the room not bothering to check if Fury was behind him. This was so above his pay-grade.