Being the son of a multimillionaire could lead to some clichéd times. Kidnappings, scandals, ransoms.

When Bucky had been eighteen, he would've definitely been worried -- but, seeing as five years had passed since then and he was now an adult with a small library and a couple many thousands of his own, he didn't see the need to be worried.

His mother, on the other hand, did.

"You've got everything you need in the proper bank accounts, yes?" She was frantic as she darted about his apartment. He was moving away to America from Romania to secure the building he'd bought -- owning his own little library, it was tricky to relocate across the world and still be known to the public.

Thankfully, luck and a lot of money were on his side.

"desigur mama mea." Of course, mother. He kissed the side of her head and stopped her anxious puttering. With a resigned sigh, she pulled him into a hug and scanned his apartment. "It'll be fine," he said, reminding himself to use English whenever possible. Romanian in the U.S. would unfortunately not be as welcome.

She clicked her tongue and looked up at him. "Be safe, James."

"Always, mom."

////

His library was... small. Sitting cross-legged on the counter, Bucky fixed his short hair distractedly and studied the small space. Cosy, he'd made sure there were enough soft seats, benches and round tables. Two fireplaces were in the shop, and there was an upstairs lounge balcony -- too small for more than six people, but easily accessible and warm.

He was proud of what he'd built from scratch. Smiling and nodding once, he slid off the counter and got to work preparing to open.

His phone started buzzing on the mahogany desk and he grabbed it. "Hello?"

"James, I've hired a man for you. To protect you. His name is Rogers, you will know him when you see him -- "

"I do not need a babysitter, mom," he sighed, exasperated. He paced across the floor and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Femeie paranoidă," paranoid woman, he muttered and she scoffed.

"I worry, my son," she said in a pleading voice. "At least listen. I cannot have you getting hurt or killed in another country when I am not there."

He was quiet as he pondered this, and finally heaved a sigh. "Does he have a first name?"

She sounded brighter as she answered. "Steven Rogers. He will protect you, James."

"mulțumesc," thank you, he replied. "I'll call you later, okay? I'll be fine."

"Love you, James."

He smiled a little. "I love you too." Hanging up, he walked to the front door and flicked the lights on, then turned the sign to "Open for Business".

He couldn't wait to start the day.

////

Steve Rogers frowned down at the report in his hands, gazing over the face of the man: James Buchanan Barnes. Worth millions through family ties and coming from Romania, many had already caught eye of this quiet man who ran a library down in Brooklyn.

"Today's the day?" Natasha straddled a chair and looked at him. He nodded and dropped the file on the table, leaned back and ran his hands over his face, thinking. "Funny it's Brooklyn. Back to your old stomping grounds, huh?"

"Haven't been in years," he mused and looked at her. "Anything we got on this guy's personality?"

She hummed in thought. "Quiet, no known pressure points, bilingual... "

"That'll have to be a start," he said and stood, stretching. "Christ, this mission is gonna take a long time," he sighed as he glanced over the full report again. He had sworn service until either he was dismissed, or either one of them was killed.

So, he was there for life with a strange, handsome man he didn't know.

Awesome.

"You'll be fine," she dismissed with a scoff. "Remember that princess you protected? How many years was that?"

"Five," he said. "It's different this time though."

She smirked at him. "This time you're intrigued?"

He shrugged. Nat smirked and shook her head.

////

Business was slow, but palpable. Bucky particularly caught the eye of a dark-haired man with a five o'clock shadow of a beard, and deep brown eyes. Glasses, dark jacket, tall, brooding figure. Cute, he supposed. Something to pass the time as he absently stood and waited behind a huge desk all day.

He caught him staring a couple times and decided to remain cautious just in case his mother's tales had merit to him. But he had drastically changed his look -- as in, he'd gotten a haircut and contacts instead of glasses he'd had as a kid.

Surely nobody could tell he was the only son of George Barnes the billionaire who now lived in America, out of place and utterly alone.

Surely.

"Another day, another penny," he muttered as he closed up shop. The sun had turned to a dark gold and he took a moment to look outside. Everything was still so unfamiliar, expansive to an extent he didn't know where to start first.

This was his life. A quiet life, in Brooklyn. Well, maybe he should've picked a smaller city, perhaps a countryside -- but, Brooklyn was where his shop opened, so Brooklyn it would be.

He could get used to it, in all due time.

Shrugging on his jacket, he locked up and headed out down the street, looking around. He looked across the water to the big city, a brilliant beacon of light in an otherwise dark world. "Quite the metaphor," he muttered to himself as he took everything in.

He'd have to check it out there sometime. Instead, he turned on his heel and began the walk home, shivering in the brisk air but enjoying it nonetheless.

////

Steve was going to miss Washington, D.C. He adjusted his grip on the steering wheel and fought back a yawn as he eyed the sign welcoming him to New Jersey.

He was really going to miss home.

"Hey, Clint," he said as he called him through the vehicle so he could focus on driving. The sooner he got to Brooklyn, the better. "Is everything good to go?"

"Just securing it. Brooklyn's a nightmare, it's so damn expensive," Clint sighed, as if he was paying it out of pocket instead of through their organization which covered costs of long-term missions.

"Brutal," he agreed, his mind elsewhere.

"How long is this mission again? 'Tasha wants to know how long approximately she has to keep your plants alive."

He sighed as he thought, biting his lip. "Couple months at the most? We've picked up a couple threats towards him, and instead of waiting to see how that plays out, we'll probably need to relocate him... Obviously my main mission is to keep him alive." He rubbed his face as he talked, deep in thought.

"Sounds like fun," Clint said brightly. "Well, I'll let you go -- where are you right now?"

"New Jersey," he replied. Clint snorted in response.

"Have fun protecting a Romanian nerd," Clint hummed before hanging up. Steve rolled his eyes and yawned again.

He couldn't wait to get to his new place and crash.

////

It was a cold, windy day when he was asked out. It had been almost a month since moving, and he figured he'd settled pretty okay -- and he and that brunet were getting close enough that Bucky had tentatively asked him out for a coffee.

His name was Brock, and he was a nice guy -- offered him lilies one day with a charming smile along with a coffee he liked. Bucky didn't feel a major spark with him, but that was okay. It was fun.

It was fun to begin with.

"Fancy a walk?" Brock tilted his head, and Bucky nodded shyly.

Just around the pier, Bucky thought as they walked.

"So, Brock, what do you do?"

He smiled sheepishly and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Engineering and electronics," he said and looked at him. "I know, boring -- "

"No, not boring," Bucky assured and smiled. "And that's coming from a guy who owns a bookstore."

"You have a beautiful accent," Brock remarked as they walked to the end of the pier. "Where's it from?"

"Romania," he answered automatically and froze, cursing himself inwardly. Brock only smiled and didn't let on as if he knew that this was the very same Romanian son of a billionaire. Pierce was going to be very pleased to know his information had been proven true.

"Really? Can you teach me some Romanian?" Brock rested a hand on his hip, and Bucky didn't notice that the move was so he could assure himself that his gun was still there.

"Maybe another time," he dismissed and stared out into the water, incredulous at himself for his own willingness to trust so easily.

"You know," Brock started as he leaned on the bars holding people back from falling in, "you're a very interesting person, James."

For some reason, hearing his name fall from Brock's lips sent a shiver up his spine, and definitely not in a good way. He eyed him carefully and didn't respond, even when Brock turned to stare at him, dark brown staring into ocean blue.

Bucky glanced away and out to the horizon. "I -- should head back home now. It's getting late."

"I'll walk you there," Brock offered and Bucky smiled tightly.

"That won't be necess-- "

"Please," interrupted Brock. So, Bucky allowed him to walk him home.

"This isn't a safe way to go," Bucky said, giving him a look as Brock lead them down an alleyway, leading the charge as if he knows where Bucky lives.

"Trust me," Brock murmured and gave him a reassuring smile that for some reason caused Bucky a little ease. "You don't need to be afraid, okay? This is the quickest route to yours."

"And... how do you know where home is?"

Brock thought quick. "Well, I've seen you around your store and you don't have a car, which means wherever you live it must be nearby," he said.

Bucky nodded slowly.

"Or we could take our time getting there," Brock suggested and grinned as they slowed to a stop. Bucky leaned against the wall and stared at him as Brock eyed him. "James, I've wanted you since I saw you."

"Oh?" Bucky breathed, aware of Brock's hands on either side of him, pinning him to the wall.

"You're a real treasure, you know?" Brock continued, eyes glinting as he stared him down. Bucky felt a knot of unease in his stomach.

"Thank you."

"You're very welcome, B-- "

"Excuse me," interrupted a new voice, low and commanding. Bucky turned to see a man in shadow, but his face fell into light as he stepped closer.

"Can I help you?" Brock pulled away, and Bucky took a shaky, deep breath.

"That won't be necessary." The man stepped towards Bucky, only warranting Brock with one last glance. He said nothing more, but raised his badge that clearly displayed Steven Rogers typed neatly and a photo identifying him. To the right was a symbol of what appeared to be an eagle, and acronyms Bucky couldn't make out.

Steve Rogers. He connected the dots and gave him a look. Rogers was a serious looking blond with a handsome face and blue eyes. The man his mother had hired to protect him.

His face tried to convey, I need you to follow me, you're in danger, but he found no way to say that out loud.

"You'll have to come with me," Steve said instead, and Bucky squared his shoulders, and gave the barest of nods.

"Hey, now -- "

"Shall we?" Steve interrupted, gesturing for Bucky to go ahead. And Bucky started walking hastily, shooting Brock a glance over his shoulder. Steve fell into step beside him, focused, alert.

"Thank you for trusting me, Mr Barnes. I was hired to protect you," Steve said in a low voice as they quickly made their way down Bucky's street.

"How do I know you are who you're claiming to be? You could easily be a false," Bucky said quickly. Steve shot him a look, but the ghost of a smile sat on his lips.

"Your mother said you were quick. That's good."

They walked up to Bucky's apartment building, and while Bucky assumed Steve would follow him in, he stopped at the door and Bucky faced him.

Millions of questions floated through his head, but what he blurted was "Where will you be staying if not near me?"

"I'll be just down the street. It'd look too suspicious if I was right next to you at all times. I'll come by tomorrow and explain everything." He half turned away, paused, and looked back, suddenly dropping the professional façade and looking genuine.

"I would recommend keeping your distance from that man. He didn't seem to have your best interest at heart." He tilted his head. "I'll see you tomorrow, Mr Barnes."

"Goodnight," Bucky called stupidly after him. He ran his hands through his hair and leaned against his door frame, speechless as he watched the shadow of his figure disappear around the corner.

He didn't know why, but all of a sudden his life in Brooklyn just got a whole lot more interesting.

////

Holy. This idea is way longer than I wrote but this is roughly 2200 words at this point; but I'll definitely explore this idea later, as I quite like it :) also, howdy! It's been... three months since I last updated this book! That's too long, so here we go, another part! Maybe two more, we'll see how this productive night goes. :)