Set in New York City, months after the events of The Falcon and The Winter Soldier. This story follows Bucky Barnes as he joins the lucrative career of private security for the city's elite. Bucky's path leads him to Arlo Winslow, a former District Attorney who experienced a violent attack. Tasked with ensuring Arlo's safety, Bucky soon uncovers a more delicate mission: Arlo has hired him to watch over his adult daughter, Lucille, who is a Kindergarten teacher. As Bucky delves deeper into his assignment, he quickly learns that not everything is as it seems. The former sleeper agent soon becomes entangled in intrigue, responsibility, and unexpected romance.
Click here to read this story on A03 from the beginning.
Pairing: Bucky x Female OC
CW: language, violence, illness, sexual content, political
Below I have provided the entirety of my most recent chapter, chapter twelve for your reading pleasure.
Chapter 12: The Space Between
Lucy was not one to frequent men's department stores, but as she wandered around, she was pleasantly surprised. The aisle of suit jackets, ties, and shirts was an OCD paradise, color-coordinated, meticulously organized by style and size. It was clean and surprisingly quiet. She was waiting for Bucky to emerge from the dressing room, but he seemed to be taking forever. So, she decided to distract herself by browsing through a selection of ties near the fitting room.
Just then, a TV mounted on the wall of the seating area caught her attention. The ad blared the hopeful voice of the city’s Governor candidate, Arlo Winslow. Describing New York as the city that never sleeps, he argued it should be the city that never gives up. "For five long years, we have faced heartache," he declared. "But now, as we welcome our loved ones home, a new dawn approaches—one where no one gets left behind." As he spoke passionately about economic struggles, the housing crisis, and rising crime rates running rampant across the state, Lucy felt her heart swell with pride. She had never heard her father’s platform until now, and it was better than she could have imagined. Maybe she had underestimated him after all.
A sales associate approached her. “Ms. Winslow, Mr. Barnes is asking for your assistance.”
Lucy blinked, shaking off her admiration as she turned to the man. “Okay,” she replied, forcing herself to compose her feelings. Bucky must have wanted her opinion on the tux.
“He has my vote,” the associate added with a warm smile before walking away.
Lucy watched him leave, her thoughts swirling. Her father had a real shot at winning.
Knocking gently on Bucky's dressing room door, she called, “What’s going on in there? You have been in for a while.”
After a brief shuffle, Bucky's voice emerged, laced with frustration. “This is stupid, and I hate it!”
Rolling her eyes, Lucy could not help but tease, “Yeah, I’m sure you look really terrible!” She was positive Bucky could not look bad, no matter how hard he tried.
“No, it’s not that…” Bucky’s voice faltered, a hint of vulnerability creeping in. He paused for a moment, the silence thick with tension, before finally asking, “Could you come in here?”
Lucy stiffened at the request. She shot a glance at the dressing room door, uncertainty settling in. “That’s a little personal, don’t you think?” she stammered, her heart racing.
“Are you alone?” His voice was steadier now, but there was an edge of urgency to it.
Lucy surveyed the dressing area, confirming they were indeed the only ones there. “Yes, why?”
“I--” Bucky hesitated, with a breath escaping his lips. “Never mind. Everything is fine.” But Lucy could hear the unease that lingered in his tone.
Not used to this side of Bucky, whose confidence usually filled the room, she felt a wave of concern wash over her. “You can talk to me,” Lucy urged, her voice soft yet firm.
“Okay, look.” Bucky’s embarrassment was palpable as he spoke, each word laced with reluctance. “I’m having a hard time with these buttons because of my arm…”
The admission landed heavily in the air. Lucy felt a rush of empathy mixed with pride; it took real courage for him to ask for help. Here was Bucky Barnes, a man of strength and resilience, struggling with something so simple. A civilian for the first time, he was learning to navigate life with a prosthetic meant for more than just fighting. It explained his wardrobe choices, the t-shirts and zippered jeans that made his daily life a bit easier.
“I’m coming in,” she finally stated, determination fueling her steps.
Taking a deep breath to compose herself, Lucy stepped into the cramped dressing room. It felt more like a closet with the two of them squeezed in, their bodies nearly touching. Both of them shifted awkwardly, attempting to find a comfortable position. “This isn’t working,” Lucy finally declared, frustration edging her voice. “Maybe we should go out there.”
“No!” Bucky replied, a note of urgency in his voice. “I don’t want prying eyes.”
Confused, Lucy arched an eyebrow, processing his words. After a moment, she quipped, “The tailor is prying eyes?”
Her attempt to lighten the mood hung between them, a flicker of humor in the tense atmosphere, as they both navigated an unexpected moment of vulnerability.
Believe it or not, Bucky found some humor in the situation, ending up thinking maybe he was being a tad ridiculous. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, Lucy wasted no time and began to adjust his shirt with expert hands.
“First, let’s take care of that collar; it’s upsetting to look at,” she declared, her tone both playful and serious. The tiny gap that had once separated them vanished as Lucy stepped closer, her hands reaching up to smooth the collar down. In that moment, they were so near that Lucy could feel Bucky’s warm breath brushing against her cheek, mingling with the subtle fragrance of his cologne.
Bucky, being on the taller side, Lucy balanced on her tiptoes, but Bucky noticed her wobble and instinctively placed his hands gently on her waist, steadying her as she found her footing.
Doing her best to ignore her growing heart rate and how intimate the moment felt, Lucy did her best to keep her attention on the task at hand. But it was difficult for her to ignore how nicely the shirt fit his solid frame. He looked so rugged and charming at the same time. Clearing her throat, she began to talk to fill the silence, “It looks like you got these first few.” She noticed how the front of his shirt was half-buttoned at the bottom.
“It was taking too long, so I gave up,” Bucky admitted calmly. While Lucy focused on his dress shirt, Bucky focused his attention on her. He watched as her brows furrowed in concentration, her fingers delicately handling each button with care. He was so focused on what Lucy was doing, he forgot he was still holding her waist and did not realize he was doing it until she stepped back slightly to give them more room to observe her handiwork.
The proximity and the lingering hand placement. Lucy was a wreck on the inside. She kept telling herself that their relationship was strictly professional, bound by a contractual agreement; nothing more, nothing less. However, she was determined not to let her feelings get the best of her. As they continued to find themselves in situations that strayed outside the terms of the agreement, her resolve became increasingly fragile.
Lucy felt a flutter of anxiety; one glance up at Bucky and he might see all the thoughts in her mind. So, she focused intently on the cuffs of his shirt, desperately trying to keep her thoughts at bay. “Look at this, though, why do these shirts even need buttons?” she huffed, her fingers struggling with the tiny fastenings. “They were clearly designed for aesthetic, not for practicality. And don’t even get me started on women’s pants! Either they are nonexistent or they are not functional. Which makes no sense, we carry more stuff than you guys do. It’s like they think, ‘Oh, women have purses, what do they need pockets for?’ Sometimes, I want to freestyle it, you know?” Lucy rambled on, hoping her complaints would help shift Bucky’s mind into thinking it was the product that was the problem and not him.
Bucky watched her, a small smile creeping onto his face. He appreciated her quirky way of bringing him back to reality, reminding him of his humanity.
“So, how are you feeling?” he asked suddenly, eager to join in the conversation.
“Right now? Frustrated! Why are these buttons so small? Who designed this?” Lucy exclaimed, rolling her eyes.
“No, I mean, how are you feeling, like, health-wise?” he clarified, genuine concern lacing his voice.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” Lucy shrugged, diverting her focus to the other arm’s cuffs.
“Really? Because you seemed like you weren’t quite yourself again today,” he replied, obviously hesitant but sincere.
“I wasn't,” Lucy said, pausing her tasks to focus on him. A playful smirk danced across her lips as she continued, “It’s funny. Once we stepped out of that school, I actually started to feel better. Maybe I am just spending too much time there and catching some... phantom sickness.”
Bucky raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Phantom sickness? That sounds made up. I don’t think that is a thing.”
“ Yes, because phantom smells are a thing.”
“Phantom smells? Come on.”
“It absolutely could be,” she shot back, her challenge hanging in the air between them.
Bucky shook his head, a grin forming on his face. “Well, it is definitely not.”
They shared a stubborn stare, each holding their ground.
“ Don't be a smart ass. Think you can handle this?” Lucy teased, a playful smirk dancing across her lips as she reached for the tux jacket and handed it to him. She then swung open the dressing room door.
“Yes, Mother,” Bucky replied, his tone light, but the unease gnawed at him. Deep down, he was worried. What Lucy was experiencing was anything but normal, and he had a sinking feeling she was aware of it, too. He just hoped it would not spiral out of control before they got a handle on it. As he watched Lucy walk away, his gaze returned to the tux jacket, which was far easier to put on.
As Bucky stepped out of the dressing room, Lucy could not help but do a double-take. She had anticipated he would look sharp, but the way that tuxedo hugged each curve of his form was nothing short of jaw-dropping. She found herself captivated, her gaze fixed on him as he twisted and turned, taking in every angle of his reflection.
Running a nervous hand through his hair, Bucky pivoted to seek Lucy's thoughts, his expression serious, yet a spark of excitement danced in his eyes at the sight of himself in the sleek tux.
“What do you think?” Bucky asked, his voice laced with a hint of uncertainty. It had been ages since he had worn anything close to a suit; his last experience was back in 1943, when his uniform had been a far cry from the sophisticated style of the day. He reminisced about the elegant occasions that called for tailored suits, a world so different from today. But standing there in that tuxedo reignited a long-dormant part of him, bringing back memories of a time he truly missed.
“I think you are going to have to fend off the ladies with a stick!” Lucy teased, her smile playful.
With a graceful move, she rose from her chair and strolled over to Bucky. Gently, she guided him to face the mirror, smoothing the fabric of his tux with care. When she turned to look at their reflections, her smile widened. “Look at you, 007,” she said, admiration sparkling in her eyes.
Bucky’s face lit up with pride. “I actually know who that is!” he responded, a hint of swagger in his tone.
“Impressive,” Lucy quipped.
After a brief pause, she glanced at her phone, the time pulling her back to reality. “We should probably check out,” Lucy announced, a touch of reluctance coloring her words .
Bucky also felt that familiar tug of reluctance creeping in. They had spent countless hours together, often surrounded by the chaos of little kids. But today was different; it had been genuinely enjoyable, and he found himself embracing that feeling more than ever, especially when it came to Lucy. The thought of returning to the house and parting ways settled heavily in his chest.
Suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence, Bucky blurted out, “Are you hungry? Would you like to get something to eat?” It was an unexpected move for him, yet Dr. Raynor’s encouragement to embrace what frightened him echoed in his mind.
Lucy’s eyes widened in surprise as she caught his gaze through the mirror's reflection. A warm smile broke across her face. “I’m starving,” she replied, her excitement infectious.
They stumbled upon a pub down the street from the shop. The moment they stepped inside, the warm, casual vibe embraced them, and they found a table near the bar. As they settled in, they ordered a round of appetizers and grabbed a couple of cold beers, the conversation flowing effortlessly between them. It felt surprisingly familiar, like catching up with an old friend.
Bucky leaned back in his chair, a playful smirk dancing on his lips as he took a sip of his beer.
“Seriously, how did you score that Tux for free?”
Lucy chuckled, giving her shoulders a light shrug as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “I just flashed him a smile,” she teased, her eyes twinkling. “Turns out he is a fan of Arlo. But you, my friend, will have to brag to everyone about where you got that tux tomorrow night.” Her cheeky grin widened as she picked at the plate of nachos between them.
“Yeah, that’s not happening,” Bucky replied, taking a last swig of his beer. He stood up and gestured to Lucy, "One more?” He did not wait for an answer before strolling over to the bar.
The atmosphere shifted; the place was buzzing now, the bartender slower than before due to the crowd. While he waited, Bucky leaned casually against the counter, scanning the room as if he were on some secret mission to protect Lucy from any potential trouble.
Suddenly, a light nudge shook him from his thoughts. He turned to find a young guy, probably around twenty-two, looking at him with wide eyes. “You’re that guy…” the stranger began, his body language suggesting he meant no harm—perhaps a bit tipsy, too. “Uh, the Winter Soldier! No way, bro!”
“I don’t go by that anymore. Call me Bucky,” he replied, shaking the guy's hand.
“Bucky? Cool!” The guy glanced over his shoulder at his friends, excitement bubbling in his voice. “I’m Tanner. Dude, the way you tossed those TV cameras? Classic! Can I get a picture?”
Bucky shot a glance back at Lucy, who was trying hard not to burst into laughter. Their eyes met, and she quickly looked away, stifling a grin. Before he could protest, Tanner whipped out his phone and began posing.
The beers finally arrived, a welcome sight. Bucky made a swift retreat back to their table, careful not to spill a drop. He set the drinks down with exaggerated flair, taking his seat across from Lucy, who looked ready to burst with laughter.
Without missing a beat, he leaned in, grabbed a straw from his water glass, and playfully spritzed her with a splash of water.
Lucy laughed, raising her hands in mock defense, “Okay, I deserved that!” She took a sip from her fresh beer, as she glanced around the bar before focusing back on Bucky. “You know, that blonde woman over there has been staring at you all night.”
“I didn’t notice,” he replied, feigning nonchalance, although he was acutely aware.
“Maybe you should go talk to her?” Lucy ventured, raising an eyebrow playfully.
“Nope, not my type,” he said, shaking his head. Leaning back, he met her gaze directly. “Besides, I like the company I have right here.”
Her cheeks tinged a soft pink under the dim bar lights, and she looked away, trying to hide her cheesy smile. Just then, a voice boomed from the bar, cutting through the ambient chatter.
“Turn the TV up!” Someone shouted urgently, drawing all eyes to the screen as the atmosphere crackled with intrigue.
The bartender behind the counter complied, turning up the volume so everyone could hear the news.
“Breaking News: The Governor of Minnesota has declared a state of emergency following the burning of Our Lady of Faith Catholic School in the middle of the night. The school specialized in rehabilitation education for children affected by the Blipp. The FBI believes it was a terrorist attack carried out by a group they have identified as the Resurgence. This attack resembles similar incidents linked to the terrorist organization. The event has sparked protests across the state. There is no new information available at this time.”
The voice of the female news anchor shifted as she turned to her colleague. “What do we know about the Resurgence, and how serious a threat do they pose?”
“Good riddance,” another man called from the end of the bar. “Life was so much easier when they were all gone.”
“Hey, buddy!” the first man responded, turning toward the other voice as he pulled himself off his stool. “My kid goes to one of those schools!”
The bar was alive with a chaotic symphony of raised voices, the tension so thick you could slice it. Two men, fueled by bravado and perhaps a few too many drinks, stood toe-to-toe, their muscles flexing as they prepared for a fight. Shouts and insults echoed off the walls, drawing the attention of everyone nearby. It was clear which side the crowd was leaning toward, and the atmosphere was ripe for conflict.
Bucky was well aware that he should have stayed seated, but an instinct kicked in that he could not ignore. He shot a glance at Lucy, motioning for her to remain at their table, then surged forward. With his arms stretched wide, he positioned himself between the two men, trying to create a barrier. But his efforts were in vain; anger flared, and fists flew, leaving him as an unwilling buffer.
When the first man dared to bring up his kid, Bucky felt a surge of indignation. “He’s not worth it,” he asserted, trying to defuse the situation. Just as he spoke, the second man landed a punch squarely on the back of Bucky’s head. It barely fazed him, but it ignited something deeper inside. Slowly, he turned to face the man who had struck him, determination burning in his eyes.
" You hit me again. It will be the last thing you do." Bucky warned. “Maybe you should leave,” Bucky said, his tone sharp and unwavering, more of a command than a suggestion.
The man’s eyes flicked nervously between Bucky and his formidable vibranium arm, which held him firmly in place, and then he caught sight of the gun peeking through his waistband. A tense moment passed as he weighed his options, uncertainty etched across his face. Finally, he took a cautious step back, clearly deciding it was best not to test Bucky’s resolve. Bucky remained still, a silent guardian ensuring the man did not change his mind.
“Thanks, man,” the other guy said, relief washing over him.
Bucky turned slightly, offering a reassuring pat on the shoulder before striding back to Lucy at the table. “We need to go. Now,” he said, urgency threading through his voice.
