Summary: Steve came home from the war to a wife that could not deal with the emotionally, mentally, and physically changed man before her. Dealing with it the only way he knew how, Steve buried himself in his work. After saving hundreds of lives in one heroic act, Steve finds himself put on bodyguard duty. Also known as a glorified babysitter.
It wasn’t easy being the daughter of insanely rich and successful businessman, Phil Coulson. After multiple death threats, your overbearing, worries-too-much father decides you need a bodyguard.
Word Count: 2,443
Warnings: Language, angst, blood, violence, explicit sexual content, possibly more to come.
Author’s Note: A huge shout out to @captain-rogers-beard and @climbthatmooselikeatree Without them I would crash and burn in a spectacular fashion. Thank you, my lovelies. GIF Credit [X][X]
My work is not to be posted on any other sites (AO3, Wattpad, etc.) without my express written permission. Reblogs are fine.
With his jaw clenched painfully tight and his hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket, Steve hovered outside of the room where a group of men were discussing their emotional and physical trauma of fighting in the war. His dear friend and brother-in-arms, Bucky, was currently standing, telling the story of how he lost his arm, of the most traumatizing day of Steve’s life.
“It was July and hot as balls,” Bucky said with this weird chuckle-groan mixture. “Steve and I were on patrol, not really lookin’ for nothin’, just makin’ sure everythin’ was cool, ya know?”
“I’m tellin’ ya, Buck, somethin’s goin’ on with Sharon,” Steve insisted.
Bucky was shaking his head, hand on the barrel of his gun squeezing. “Nah, man. She just misses ya, is all.”
“She barely said ten words to me on the call earlier.”
“Every time you leave for another tour is hard on her, brother,” Bucky explained. “And if we know anything about Sharon, it’s that she internalizes all her shit.”
Steve nodded, his bottom lip clamped between his teeth. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”
“A’course I’m right,” Bucky grinned, turning around to walk backwards. “When have I ever been wrong?”
Something rolled down the dirty and narrow alley. It hit Bucky in the back of the boot, bounced off the wall, and rolled back between his feet all before the two men realized what it was. With a shout, Steve launched himself forward and grabbed Bucky’s arm, yanking his best friend away from the grenade in the hopes that minimal harm would come to either one of them.
They were no more than five feet away when the grenade exploded. The narrow alleyway increased the pressure behind the blast, and it catapulted the men through the air. Steve landed on his back, white bursts of light exploding behind his eyes and pain making his tailbone pulse.
He did a quick self-evaluation and found that, despite the slight hearing loss, he had all of his limbs and was fully capable of getting off the ground. Well, he was dizzy and the ground shifted under his feet, but he could stand. Bucky, on the other hand, hadn’t been so lucky. He was lying on the ground, back arched, blood pouring out of a wound on the left side of his body, and a migraine-inducing scream tearing out of him.
“Son of a bitch,” Steve ground out, his vision snapping into focus as another wave of adrenaline surged through him. He dropped to his knees next to Bucky, ripped off his own belt, and fastened it to whatever was left of Bucky’s shoulder before he even registered why there was so much blood.
Bucky was still screaming in agony, his eyes screwed shut, tears smearing through the ash on his face, and it was drawing a crowd. Steve, shaking and fearing that every single person that approached was out to kill them, went on the defense. He drew the pistol on his hip since he had no idea where his other weapon was, and started aiming it at anyone that moved.
“This is Cap,” Steve grunted, eyes wide, pupils tight, talking into the comm on his shoulder. “Sarge has been hit. We need an emergency evac. Now!”
Bucky’s eyes met Steve’s and it made Steve step back into the shadows of the hallway. “If it weren’t for Steve, I wouldn’t have made it out alive. I guess what I’m tryin’ to say is, don’t be afraid to lean on other people. Sometimes you can’t do everything yourself.”
Without wanting to hear anything more, Steve left and walked to the nearest bar. He hadn’t been there more than half an hour when Bucky dropped into the seat next to him and ordered a beer.
“Been a long time, brother,” Bucky said solemnly, tapping his beer bottle against Steve’s.
Steve made a grunt of agreement, fingers toying with the wet label on the bottle. “Didn’t think you still went.”
“It helps, man. I mean, it doesn’t make me forget everythin’ that happened, but…” Bucky’s voice trailed off as he flexed the hand of his prosthetic arm. “Fuck, I don’t think I’m ever gonna get used to this thing.”
Looking out of the corner of his eye, Steve gave the metal arm a once over. “Where’d you get that one?”
“Stark Industries, believe it or not,” Bucky answered with a chuckle.
“The same Stark Industries that made the weapons we used in Afghanistan?” Steve snorted in disbelief.
Bucky turned in his seat, spreading his fingers and wiggling them back and forth. “The one and the same. Tony was taken hostage a couple years ago, I guess, and had a gigantic change of heart; started dedicating his time and research into helping veterans.”
“I’m happy for you, man,” Steve assured his friend, a tight smile on his lips.
“So, what’re you up to lately?” Bucky asked curiously.
Steve took a long pull of beer before answering. “I’m actually on the force.”
“I knew it,” Bucky laughed. “Could tell right away. What do they got you doin’?”
“I’m uh, normally I work homicides,” Steve answered after several beats.
Bucky’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Normally? What does that mean?” Without looking at the bartender, he gave a signal for another round.
“It’s complicated,” Steve murmured, eyes downcast, a hand scratching the back of his neck.
“Either you’re working homicides or not, Steve,” Bucky deadpanned. “Ain’t nothin’ complicated ‘bout that.”
The bottle that was set in front of Steve was half-drained in three swallows. “I got reassigned; I’m a bodyguard.”
Bucky laughed loud, the sound bursting out of him like a punch. His long hair fell out from behind his ears and covered his reddening face as he bent over.
“What’s so fuckin’ funny ‘bout it?” Steve ground out, anger simmering in his gut.
“You ain’t a cop, you’re a fuckin’ babysitter,” he managed to say, tears of laughter streaming down his face.
Steve gripped the bottle tight in his hand to keep from punching his friend in the face. “Least I got a job.”
Bucky sobered at that comment. “You didn’t get your fuckin’ arm blown off, brother. You got no idea how hard it is to get a job in this fuckin’ country when you only got one arm.”
“I was there, Bucky,” Steve shot back. “Through all the surgeries and physical therapy, no one else showed up but me.”
“Then where you been, huh?” Bucky wanted to know. “‘Cause I know that being a ‘cop’ doesn’t take up all of your time.”
Steve ground his teeth before taking another drink. “I had another tour, which you knew about. Plus, I’ve been dealing with my own bullshit.”
“So hanging out with me, your brother, is bullshit?!” Bucky growled, rage swirling in his grey-blue eyes. “Fuck you, Rogers.”
Not willing to sit there and take Bucky’s anger any longer, Steve shoved himself out of the chair. “Goodbye, Buck.” He slapped a twenty dollar bill onto the bar.
“Whoever you’re protectin’ should be warned about your temper,” Bucky called out.
“Coulson already knows,” Steve shouted over his shoulder before pulling the door closed.
Once outside, Steve gulped at the cool air as he stormed away from the bar. It wasn’t their first fight, and it wouldn’t be their last. The two of them fought more often than they got along, it truly felt as if they were brothers instead of best friends. That didn’t mean Bucky’s words didn’t sting or didn’t ring with truth.
Steve was used to the comments from other members of the team, but they were people he hardly knew. But Bucky was different, he was his best friend, his chosen brother, and to hear him utter those same words hurt him in a way that he hadn’t felt since Sharon kicked him out of the house last year with no explanation.
He was almost to the hotel when he got a call. It was Pepper, and she needed to see him right away. Fifteen minutes later, he got out of the cab and strode into the police department. The door to Pepper’s office was open and she wasn’t alone. Special Agent Edwin Jarvis was standing at the edge of her desk, muttering something Steve couldn’t quite hear.
“Steve,” Pepper greeted him with a fake smile. “Thank you for coming in.”
“Didn’t have much of a choice, did I, ma’am?” he asked tiredly.
Jarvis turned to eye up the officer. “Steve Rogers, heard a lot about you.”
“Agent,” Steve said gruffly. “Pardon the bluntness, but what the hell are you doing in Brooklyn?”
“Rogers,” Pepper hissed, shoving out of her seat.
Jarvis gave a huffing laugh. “It’s alright, Chief Potts. I’m the one that came here unannounced, asking for your help.”
“My help?” Steve scoffed. “What could the FBI possibly need my help with, sir?”
Before answering your question, Pepper moved across the room to shut the door. “It’s Miss Coulson, we need you to… pay close attention to her daily activities.”
“Ma’am, I already do,” he said flatly.
“More than that, Steve,” Jarvis informed him. “As you’re probably aware, her father has a bit of a reputation.”
Steve nodded in agreement. “The rumors surrounding his wealth are a bit concerning.”
“Truth be told, Phil Coulson came to our attention almost fifteen years ago,” Jarvis revealed candidly. “And in that amount of time we have not been able to make anything stick to the man. Nobody will testify and it’s making everyone in the office a bit perturbed.”
“What does Phil’s wrongdoings, whatever they may be, have to do with Y/N? Just because he’s her father -”
“That’s exactly why I’m here,” Jarvis bit out. “The bureau hasn’t been able to get near Coulson’s inner circle before now.”
Realizing exactly what Jarvis meant, Steve shook his head. “No. I won’t.”
Pepper cleared her throat, sat on the edge of her desk, and crossed her arms. “You don’t have a choice, Rogers. Either you help out the bureau, or you’re pulled from the job and put on desk duty for the next six months.”
“You can’t be serious,” Steve scoffed, his eyes drilling into Pepper’s.
“Have you ever known me to joke around?” Pepper shot back. “You’re doing this, Steve, whether you approve of it or not.”
Jarvis pulled out a phone from his pocket and handed it to Steve. “This is the only phone you’re to contact me on when you have something, and only when you have something of import. Now, since Y/N keeps her phone on her at all times and you can’t be watching over her while she’s sleeping, you’re to use this.”
Pepper extracted a briefcase from behind her desk and opened it, revealing a recording device and a set of headphones. “With your room attached to hers, it gives you the perfect access.”
“I’m not breaking into her room, ma’am,” Steve protested loudly. “And I sure as hell ain’t eavesdropping.”
Jarvis took a step closer to Steve when Pepper opened her mouth to reprimand her subordinate. “Miss Coulson is either involved with her father, or she’s been spared and has absolutely no idea what’s going on. Either way, she is the only way we can get to her father.”
When Steve didn’t say anything further, Jarvis continued. “To stress the point of how badly we require your assistance, along with Chief Potts’ previous warning, not only will you be put on six months desk duty should you continue to refuse in the investigation, you will be charged with obstruction, and serve the maximum time at Quantico. Do I make myself clear?”
“Crystal, sir,” Steve bit out, slamming the briefcase shut and ripping it off the table. “Ma’am.”
Steve stormed out of the office and yanked the door closed behind him. With pain erupting in his jaw and temples, and murder in his eyes, he left the station and hailed a cab back to the motel.
“Dad, I’m telling you that everything is fine,” you sighed into the phone.
“You haven’t gotten any threats?” Phil asked, his voice gruff from drinking whiskey and not getting much sleep.
You pushed a hand through your hair. “No, I haven’t.”
“Good. That’s good, sweetheart,” he breathed.
“Things have actually been pretty low key the last couple of days.”
“Thanks to Steve,” Phil chuckled.
You hummed unamusedly. “Sure, if that’s how you want to look at it.
“Look, I know you don’t like having a bodyguard,” he started, pushing up from his seat, no doubt getting himself another drink. “But I don’t know what I would do if something happened to you.”
A smile tugged at your lips. “You don’t have to worry about that.”
“I know I don’t, but I still need to know that you’re okay,” he admitted. “Look, I’ve got a meeting to go to.”
“So late?” you wanted to know. “It’s almost midnight.”
Phil gave an annoyed huff. Not at you, you hoped. “Money never sleeps, sweetheart. Love you.”
“Love you, dad.” You plugged your phone into the charger and dropped to your bed, chuckling at the way you bounced up and down.
It had been a really long day full of meetings, face-to-face interviews, and getting the shelter ready to open. The last thing you had wanted to talk about was Steve, let alone with your father. You loved that man to pieces, always had, always would, but there had always been something about him you didn’t trust.
What was wrong with you, not trusting your own father? You knew that he would lay down his life to protect you, to save your life; that was what a father did, after all. And yet, you couldn’t help but feel that if something debilitating were to happen – mainly the loss of Phil’s empire, everything he had worked so hard to accomplish – he wouldn’t hesitate to retaliate, in the worst way possible.
Jesus. Your mind was racing a million miles a second and your thoughts were a jumbled mess; nothing was making sense at that moment. With a resigned huff, you pushed off the bed and quickly drank a double serving of whiskey, hissing at the trail it burned down your throat and chest.
You stripped out of your clothes and turned off all the lights before slipping between the sheets. It didn’t take long to drift off, thanks mostly to the whiskey combined with the exhaustion eating at you. The last thing you thought of was Steve, and you had absolutely no idea why. Well, that wasn’t necessarily true, but you didn’t really have time to focus on that because everything went dark as you fell asleep.
FIVE: SNAFU
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