Disclaimer: The Winter Soldier does not belong to me.
"Jesus, Barnes, you're in for it," Rumlow muttered. Pulling out his cellphone, he hastily scrawled through the list of contacts. Finding the one he wanted, he pressed it. A faint ringing tone emerged, followed by a pause. Eventually, Rumlow heard a voice. "Yes?"
"Alex? Brock. He's gone."
Bucky walked through the street, anger slowly draining and being replaced with a feeling of lightness. He had managed to leave Rumlow, and avoided Alex. He kept walking.
And then paused. He realised he was in an unfamiliar area, and had no idea where he was. Biting his lip, he turned, and noticed a bar. He figured he could spend a couple of hours in there lying low until he had to go back and face Alex. He began to cross the street, and entered.
It was a pleasant atmosphere. Quiet, music piped through - rock, but not loud - and with several people sitting in pairs or small groups, talking and laughing. He checked his watch - half six. The shoot, he thought sourly, had taken far too long. Standing there, as though that was all he was meant to do.
Which, he realised with a shock, he was.
"What can I get you?"
He blinked. The young woman behind the bar was smiling at him. "A beer, please," he mumbled.
"Sure thing."
He felt a stab of satisfaction. Beer. Complete with alcohol, carbohydrate, and other bloating ingredients that would only serve to upset Rumlow further. He accepted it gratefully, and took a sip.
His euphoria was slowly ebbing away. He had no doubt that Rumlow would have immediately contacted Pierce. It was now a matter of time of waiting for him to find him. He ran his fingers through his hair, resenting the long strands. He'd used to have his hair cut short, not just military regulations but also it was because how he liked it. He'd suggested getting it cut a couple of months ago, but Alex had refused.
"Cut your hair?" he'd asked, his voice incredulous.
"Well, I thought-"
"James." Alex's voice was soft, with a slight edge of mockery. "I thought you understood. You're not paid to think. You're paid to look good. You are the biggest asset that my agency has. And if you change your image, and therefore start alienating clients, my agency goes. Understand?"
Bucky had nodded. "I do, yes."
"Excellent. The hair stays." Alex shook his head, as though he couldn't comprehend why Bucky was bothering him over this. "Remember. If you hadn't been picked ten years ago, where do you think you'd be now?"
"I-"
"I'll tell you." Alex was standing up, cutting an imposing figure behind his desk. The light of the late afternoon was shining in through the slatted blinds of the office window, casting him partially in shadow. "You'd probably be living in some rented apartment, on severance pay from the army, drinking yourself stupid." He raised an eyebrow. "So, don't argue with me, James. You'll do as I say. Let's face it - you're getting older, and younger models are coming up all the time."
Bucky got the message. Swallowing, he stood up, and turned to leave. He heard Alex's voice again.
"Oh, and James-"
He turned back. Alex was throwing him a small box.
"Maybe you should try these. You'll be thinner in a matter of days."
Bucky looked at the box, and swallowed. Laxatives. He was tempted to throw them straight back, but instead put them in his pocket, and turned to leave.
"Take them!" Alex shouted. "Might help with the pudginess on your abdomen!"
"You all right, Hun?"
He blinked. The young woman behind the bar was talking to him. He nodded. "Fine," he said, his voice husky. He realised he was gripping the bar, and drained the glass. "Can I have another?"
"Of course."
Bucky smiled. This could prove to be a decent evening after all.
"So, let's start here and see where we feel like moving on to!"
Steve nodded, and smiled. Sam was determined for him to get out, and Natasha was all too willing to join in.
"Never been here before," Steve commented as they walked in through the doors. Sam looked at him, surprised. "Really? Its only a couple of blocks away from youre place. Still, what are you guys having?"
"Vodka and tonic please," Natasha asked, politely, whilst Steve paused. "Beer."
"You got it." Sam nodded and headed to the bar. As he walked to it, he heard arguing. "Sir, you've had enough."
"Oh, come on," drawled a voice. Sam frowned - the voice definitely sounded drunk, and he realised it was coming from a long haired man who was practically slumped across the bar. "Oh come on sweetheart, jus' give me another beer. I've only had...four?"
"Five," the young woman said, folding her arms. "And I'm not serving you another."
"You can't do that!" he shouted, practically banging his fist on the table. "Don' you know who I am?"
"No, I don't." She shook her head. "You're a drunk asshole, that's who!"
"I'm-"
"Whoa, man, stop it." Sam stepped forward, calmly. "Hey. You don't need another drink. You need to go home."
The man turned and faced him. His skin was flushed and his eyes were red. Sam blinked. "Home?" he laughed bitterly. "Don' have one. But I know Alex is going to be pissed...at me..."
Sam blinked. Suddenly, he heard Natasha's voice. "Wilson? What's up?" She looked at Bucky. "Oh, barfly." She shook her head in disgust.
"Sam, you ok..." Steve had come up behind Natasha, but his voice trailed off. "Bucky?" He looked at him, confusion and shock clouding his features. "Are you-" he looked at him again. "Drunk?!"
"No," Bucky slurred. "I've had a few drinks."
"A few too many," Sam said, nodding. "Come on, pal. Let's get you somewhere you can sleep it off."
"My hotel...don't know where..."
"Hey, my place is only a couple of blocks. I have a couch."
Sam looked at him, astonished. "Steve? He's a stranger?!"
Steve shook his head. "No, he isn't." He swallowed. "I've known him his whole life. Except the last ten years of it."
"Well..." Sam seemed to be struggling to process this surprising flow of information. "Let's get him to my car. He throws up, your cleaning my upholstery."
Steve had already looped one arm of Bucky's round his neck, literally pulling the shorter man to his feet. "You got it."
"Don't know you," Bucky murmured. His voice was softer and Steve could tell he was on the verge of passing out.
"You do." Steve muttered. Assisted by Sam and Natasha, the drunken model was hauled out of the bar.
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