Chapter Text
10 YEARS AGO
“No,” said Sam, laughing, “You didn’t. You couldn’t.”
Tall. He was definitely taller, Sam remembered that.
“I had to,” the person said, laughing along with Sam, “Butt naked. Running through the neighbor’s lawn. Had to figure out which bush I left my clothes in. Never playing that hardcore of a truth or dare game ever again. I didn’t even impress her in the end. The only thing that made the whole thing worth it was that I can tell the story to people to get them to like me.”
And it felt like he’d look fantastic in anything, even a potato sack.
“So, you want me to like you, huh?” asked Sam, waggling his eyebrows, making this person laugh.
It wasn’t because the guy was forever beautiful or something, not to say he wasn’t gorgeous, but he just felt like he had the confidence in his body to pull anything off.
“I mean, I’d like if you enjoyed my presence, at the very least,” he said with a big grin.
And the moment Sam realized the pool was there, saw it lit up in the night, Sam knew what he was going to do. He pointed to the pool and said, “Let’s jump in.”
“What?” said the guy, surprised, and Sam sort of loved how he looked when he was surprised, remembered liking how the guy’s face looked after the suggestion, “No. We’re in suits.”
And maybe Sam was a little contradictory back in the day (possibly still very contradictory), but whenever someone told him something like “No, we can’t go into the pool”, that made Sam want to do everything in his power to get them both in that pool.
“I dare you,” said Sam, laughing, “I fucking dare you.”
Beautiful hair. Sam remembered luscious hair.
“What?” said the person, off-balance, “Do you see what I’m wearing, man?”
And piercing eyes. Were they an icy blue? Or a platinum grey? Maybe both, depending on the light?
“I see what you’re wearing,” said Sam, taking off his suit jacket, taking off his tie, his button down, his pants, kicking off his shoes, pulling off his socks, all the way down to his underwear, “Take it off. Take it off. Take it off.”
With this crinkle near his eyes when he smiled, when he laughed. And his laugh was so wonderful that Sam just wanted to hear it as many times as he could, even if he was going to hear it only tonight. He was soaking in as much of this guy as he could.
“That’s crazy,” said the guy through giggles, “You’re crazy.”
And sure, there was a deep thrumming of the beat indoors, the loud cheering of the party, but all Sam really wanted to do was talk to this guy.
“I’m either jumping in with you into this pool,” said Sam, “Or I’m going to jump in on my own and you’re going to get that suit you’re so into all wet.”
Sam had been invited to a party. A party by this guy, Steve, his best friend in Teen Art Council at the NOMA. While Steve was more of a painter, and Sam was more of a photographer, they found something amazing in mixing their media together and bonded through that and their love of jogging. Steve had invited him to this party, this sort of “anti-prom” party due to his school being shitty to one of his friends.
“Okay, okay, I’ll do it, give me a second,” said the guy, starting to carefully take of his suit, placing it on the lounge chair, down to his underwear and Sam laughed, the guy saying, “What?”
Sam was always a fan of supporting people, and it was his senior year, so Sam thought, “What the hell? Need to go to one drinking party before college, anyways”, so Sam went.
“I didn’t know they made literal heart boxers,” said Sam, giggling.
Sam thought he’d just party and drink all night like in the movies.
“Well, they do,” said the guy, “My sister gave me these as a joke present last week.”
But instead, he just ended up hanging out with this guy, a guy he forgot to get a number from, a guy who he forgot his name.
“Aw. Happy late birthday,” said Sam, placing his hand on the guy’s arm, maybe leaving it there a little too long, feeling some tone, feeling his own face heat up as he said, “Well. Let’s get in.”
And before the guy could say anything, Sam barrel rolled into the pool, feeling the cool water, taking the feeling of being submerged in for a moment before swimming up to the surface, seeing the guy still above.
“You joining me or what?” said Sam, swimming a little deeper into the pool, “The water’s nice.”
The guy took a deep breath and ran, cannonballing into the pool, Sam laughing as he got hit by the splash, seeing the guy swim to the surface, moving his hair out of his face.
“You’re right, the water is pretty nice,” said the guy, grinning.
And Sam could swear the grin was a hundred sunsets beautiful, a thousand fields of flowers, a million stars. And Sam wanted to see more of that.
“You know what you’re going to do,” asked Sam, swimming towards the shelf in the pool, the guy following him, “When you graduate? Or are you a junior? I know this party is sort of a mix of juniors and seniors.”
Sam sat down and was pleased the guy sat close.
“I’m a senior, I’m…Could I pick your brain on something, actually?” asked the guy.
And Sam turned his way, head resting on his arm, saying, “Go on. I’m great at decisions. I’m the best at them. The world should just make me its leader already, I’ll run it better.”
“You seem like it,” said the guy, laughing nervously.
“Sometimes, you just know. And when you know, you know, you know?” said Sam on purpose because he knew it would make the guy laugh, chuckle a bit, because the guy loved terrible jokey jokes and Sam was full of them, “Now, come on, are you telling me tonight or are we just going to sit here for a million years staring at each other?”
And the guy seemed like he almost was going to say “Staring is fine”, but thought better.
“I got into Julliard,” the person started, “For dance.”
And maybe the guy’s name started with a ‘D’? Maybe a ‘B’? Sam wasn’t quite sure.
“Oh, so you’re a dancer, huh?” asked Sam, grinning.
“I mean, I could show you, but…”
“Wet dancing is probably not the best idea?” said Sam, the guy nodding, and Sam really wished he knew about that before the impromptu dip in the pool, “Understandable and regrettable. Wish I knew before the pool. Continue.”
“The problem is that I have an opportunity, a huge opportunity, one I never thought I would have that could jumpstart my career,” explained the guy, “But if I went with it, I’d have to decline Julliard. Which I thought had always been part of my dream. That I’d need to go there to get the job I’m being offered now. It would be part of the process, the next step. You’re supposed to go to college first, right?”
This was back when Sam thought he knew everything. He was better about this now, understood that he probably should think more before he talked, but he just went on with whatever popped into his head first.
“You shouldn’t do something just because you assume you’re supposed to,” said Sam.
The guy blinked.
“What do you mean by that?” asked Sam.
“I mean, if you’re only going to Julliard because you thought that was how to get a job that’s similar to the one you’ve just been offered, wouldn’t it make more sense to pursue the career and skip a step?” asked Sam.
The guy smiled, nodding.
“That…makes a lot of sense,” said the guy.
“I know. I do that a lot,” said Sam, “And now, I think, I deserve a reward.”
“A reward?” the man echoed, amused, “What sort of reward?”
“A kiss?” said Sam, because he was cheesy as hell sometimes, especially towards the end of high school, and he really did want to kiss this guy at least once.
And it was so worth it to see the guy light up like a Christmas tree, and maybe Sam would have apologized if he hadn’t felt vibes coming from the guy too.
“I – I guess I can give you that,” said the guy, leaning in and giving Sam the most chaste kiss in the world, like he’d never kissed someone before, and maybe he never had.
But it was perfect, still, magical, and Sam was forever pleased that he was such a confident asshole back then, that he would just tell people exactly what he wanted. And, Sam thought about that night fondly, those ten years ago. Not sure why he did. It was only one night. Sam wished he got the guy’s name. He wished he remembered exactly who that was.
*****
NOW
A catchy, synth-heavy beat. Lights on a fancy boutique shop, couture. A clothing rack was pushed by two backup dancers, glitzed up in outrageous clothes, somewhere in between eccentric and chic as Bucky comes in on the “Oh!”
Big sunglasses and crop top to make apparent some of his accident scars under a fluffy faux-fur gilet so as to not hide his semi-recently lost arm, his hair styled up in what Sam could only guess was “Audrey Hepburn Breakfast at Tiffany’s hair” including a fake small tiara, short shorts with intense and daring heels.
“I want all my clothes designer (Ooh!), I want someone else to by ‘em (Yeah!)!”
Bucky moved with grace down, the dancers on his side flanking him as he moved into the dance he most definitely thought up for the video, whoever was shooting moving back to give him space. And there was a movement to it that was different from his other projects before this, before he started to fight his label, decided to go on this insane Cover Tour. Hell, Sam hadn’t seen the guy dance since his Howling Commando boyband days and he wasn’t even allowed to dance at the forefront back then.
The dance was fluid, fun, more complicated yet seemingly easy due to Bucky and his backup dancers’ level of proficiency. It was much campier compared to anything he’d ever made, very stretching a budget in unique and creative ways, a little rough in a good way. The tone was much cattier, tongue and cheek like Carly Rae Jepsen with a little more of a cynicism, a cutting edge to it. Which Sam thought was very reasonable, given the circumstances.
“If I cannot get it right now (Now!), I don't want it, I don't want it, I don't want it at all, I don't want it, I don't want it, I don't want it at all!”
Clothes rained all around them, jewelry, shopping bags. And it was definitely on a phone, but very well shot, none the less.
Fury paused the music video, turning to Sam, not looking sold on this.
“Seriously?” said Fury, pointing at the freeze frame where Bucky was mid-high kick, “This isn’t a story. This is a man acting out. I don’t see the legs.”
Sam had been hired out of college by Shield, a music magazine that was now increasingly transitioning to a digital medium. Sam had rose through the ranks from an intern to a staff writer to being given a lead in a running vertical for the digital page that was a mixed media event every month, from interactive photos to videos to AR treasure hunts to the more traditional articles and interviews. Sam had helped the Shield stand out from the Pitchforks and the Rolling Stones of the world by having a rapport with his audience to some extent, having a more personal and stranger and more experimental touch to how he and his team approached music journalism.
And Sam really wanted this fucking story for his next major monthly event.
“What are you even talking about? It’s everything,” said Sam, because sometimes Sam’s mouth just moved without his say, seeing the look on Fury’s face, knowing he was a bit rude, taking a second to actually thinking about what he was saying to make it sound like something more reasonable, “This guy’s becoming an icon for sticking up to abusive producers and labels trying to force artists into difficult positions.”
“I know that ‘I Don’t Want It At All' is a consumerism anthem that leans into proving Zola’s accusations that James is only doing this for the money,” said Fury.
“Or, he’s actually recontextualizing the song as an ironic jab to Zola’s claims,” said Sam, “It’s satire. This is him hitting back in a way that doesn’t allow the label to make money off of a new song by him.”
Bucky had been caught in a struggle for control of his image and art ever since he survived the train crash that took his arm and almost killed him. He had decided after that near death experience that he was tired of the edgy and gloom and doom persona of the Winter Soldier his label had forced upon him when he went solo after the Howling Commandos broke up, where he was also categorized as the moody guy. This lack of artistic agency, as well as other things that went down at Hydra, pushed Bucky to fight to break his contract with them and his producer, Zola, and while he was contractually obligated to work on new songs with Zola and give some of his royalties for his songs to Hydra and Zola, there was a loophole for cover songs being completely under Bucky’s control.
So, the guy fucked off and decided to start a Cover Tour in protest, only singing other artist’s songs until his court battle with Hydra and Zola was over.
“He’s definitely doing it for the attention and to get out of his contract,” said Fury.
“But have you seen his speech about Zola at that party a year back?” asked Sam, typing out the title of the song with Bucky’s name, searching for it.
“You mean the tantrum I heard about?” asked Fury, “With the allegations?”
“Not a tantrum,” said Sam, getting the video ready, “A statement on Zola’s treatment of him that he followed by mockingly singing ‘The Weekend’ by SZA, pointing out exactly what Zola wanted from him and what he refused to do. His humor’s pretty dark, if not cutting, and I think it terrifies Hydra. That’s why they’re going all out on the lawsuit. Trying to make an example of Bucky Barnes. And I want to do a report on his Cover Tour to show those bags of dicks that they can’t try to beat a guy down into submission, try to take his agency away without consequences.”
Fury looked from the video ready to go at the touch of Sam’s finger, waiting to play the entire video for Fury. Fury conceded, Sam moving his finger away.
“What would this entail?” asked Fury.
Sam shrugged.
“I don’t need much. Just myself, my phone, my camera, and some reimbursement as I travel around with the guy,” said Sam, “I already got a few people I know getting me in touch with the guy, so I’ll know whether he’d be interested in this soon. But it’d be part road diary, part Q&A session, small videos and photos both candid and scheduled. It’d be a whole month of that leading up to a major article on him, the lawsuit, and ideas on agency, on trust, on how much power an artist has over their own work. It will be amazing. I just know it.”
Sam waited for him. Waited for the sign. Because he was great at this. Pitching. And he’d be damned if he didn’t get to report on this.
“When would you be able to start?” asked Fury.
*****
ONE WEEK LATER
There on the stage, he stood. Same backup dancers from his videos, all in workout clothes, and Sam knew ever since the revolt against the label, Bucky had been more authentic in his clothing – he’d said so much in an interview with Teen Vogue – wearing bright colors very much distinct from his pastel boyband beginnings in the Howling Commandos or his moody black R&B, sad guy with a guitar phase afterwards spearheaded by Zola himself as well as the Hydra label as the Winter Soldier.
His style instantly made a complete one-eighty, bursting with intense colors and rainbows, glitter and playing with makeup and nails, somewhere between Zenon: Girl of the 21st Century and the Fifth Element at times, heavily leaning into the sort of camp that was semi-cheap yet decadent. In fact, Sam hadn’t seen the guy where an ounce of black since he the leaked phone footage of his rant against Zola and Hydra that ended with him singing that SZA song, not even in his mascara or eyeliner, and Sam wondered if that had to be a purposeful decision.
This outfit was no different, reflecting the choices he made in his recent music videos more than Sam expected, wearing a hot pink “I Find This Attire to Be Appealing” half-shirt with a banana in a top hat and a monocle, gold hot pants with the words “MY TUSH” sewn onto the back like he did it himself, hot pink tights going down to some intense heals with an ice cream theme to them.
He’d also grown his hair out from the clean cut he wore as both a member of the Howling Commandos and the Winter Soldier. It was long enough for the be tied back in a messy bun to keep it out of the way, his nails definitely painted in a gradient from pink to purple to blue.
Sam could tell the man wasn’t doing whatever moves he knew. Even in the latest videos, there had been an outpour of confusion and surprise by just how good of a dancer Bucky was, especially since he neither was known as the best dancer in the Howling Commandos nor had he danced during his solo career. Looking at people comparing the dances in old Howling Commando music videos to these new videos as well as semi-shaky concert footage, it was honestly night and day, people wondering why the hell Bucky’s moves were never highlighted earlier in his career, only shining through when he broke out and started making decisions for himself. There was a bit of a scandal to it too, since Jacques Dernier was seen as the “dancer” of the boyband, and judging by the clips of Bucky now, was definitely a subpar dancer comparatively.
Jacques was even asked about it a month back when he was a guest on Aftersun for Love Island, and his response to the controversy was simply “They liked how I looked when I danced. They thought I was the cutest, so they gave me dance solos. I don’t know why they never gave Bucky dance solos. I always found it weird too”, which sparked even more controversy online, a huge number of old Howling Commando fans bemoaning the loss of what could have been, also confused as to why they made him the bad boy of the group when he was obviously playing against his own personality, judging by what Bucky made on his own.
And a person could tell someone knows how to dance, well and truly, based on how easy someone made extremely difficult moves look, and that was what Bucky was doing. In fact, it looked like the backup dancers were having trouble keeping up with him in this practice session.
“It’s crazy, right? He comes up with all of the dance routines himself, tweaks it all depending on the stage.”
Sam looked down to find…wait…
“Steve?” asked Sam, a bit astounded, since what a small world.
Steve looked at Sam, took a moment, but his eyes widened in recognition, standing up and blurting out, “Sam? I knew the name sounded familiar, but I didn’t know it’d actually be you. How long has it been? Two years?”
“I guess. Ever since I moved in with Riley and went to work at Shield. Sorry I didn’t keep in touch,” said Sam, a little embarrassed; Steve had been a good friend, a great friend, and they had been close.
Adult life was hard on a friendship, though. Steve dismissed the apology with a hand wave.
“It was a two-way street, I apologize too,” said Steve.
“Steve, can you start the song up again?” called Bucky from the stage, not looking over at Steve.
“Yeah, no problem! – Oh, this will be cool, check this out,” said Steve, pulling out a touch pad that looked homemade by someone who knew what they were doing, like some homebrew equipment, Steve turning on the song, “Wtv, It’s Cool” by Phé, the chill low synthesizer, the quicker beat of the drums, Bucky’s voice playing above as he lipsynced, practicing the routine he just did with the girls.
“They’ve got the group texts, And the pre-games, Loud sex and the pet names, I can’t keep up with the rich kids and the cocaine.”
Sam glanced over, looking at touch pad.
“You made this on your own?” asked Sam, impressed.
“I know nobody’s asking, but, Me I’m doing okay, Yeah I’m fucking perfect, Just over here working, Hoping that this shit’s worth it.”
“Yeah, it’s a lot like what we’re pretty sure BTS has at the moment,” said Steve, showing off the equipment, “There’s lip syncing for the dance portions, the ability for Bucky to hop in whenever he feels like actually singing, live pitch correction just in case, the works. Bucky and I must’ve spent all his recovery time after the train crash working on this – want to feature this at some point? Me and Bucky would definitely do an interview on this, he’s so proud of it.”
It wasn’t a secret that shows like this – shows that required heavy choreography – needed equipment like this to run smoothly. At least, it wasn’t a secret to those within the industry and those in the know. It was rare for someone to up and admit to having something along the lines of this for their live shows, despite it being necessary for many artists, due to the public outcry against things like this. There was a difference between Milli Vanilli pretending they could sing and artists that could definitely sing but also want to give a good dance performance, after all.
“But whatever, it’s cool, I’m not lonely, Been loving the view, Lucky mirror, Catch me while I move, While I lose it, Don’t tell ‘em, My mascara’s running, (But whatever, it’s cool).”
“I mean, if you guys are comfortable with that, sure. I’ve been meaning to do a bit of a deep dive on the intricacies of pop performances behind the scenes,” said Sam, “I can’t believe you made this yourselves, though, that’s crazy. How do you even know Bucky?”
“Oh, we go way back, but I only got back into his life after the train crash. A lot of people did, really,” said Steve, noticing Bucky giving him a gesture to start the song from the beginning and doing so, “Zola isolated Bucky from a lot of people. The train crash, while terrible, was also a bit of a godsend. I’m not sure how long it would have been for me and his sister Becca to see him again if it wasn’t for the both of us still being Bucky’s emergency contacts.”
Sam had heard a little bit about the abusive attempts to control Bucky, but the guy hadn’t wanted to talk much about it in interviews. Sam glanced back at Bucky, seeing him about to start the chorus again, taking out his phone to take some candid video of the rehearsal, Bucky crushing his performance as he sang once again, “But whatever, it’s cool, I’m not lonely, Been loving the view, Lucky mirror, Catch me while I move, While I lose it, Don’t tell ‘em, My mascara’s running, (But whatever, it’s cool).”
Bucky spotted Sam, hiding surprise well, not faltering in the last move before gesturing for Steve to turn off the music and it was.
It was a little intense having Bucky stare straight at Sam. There was something about him, like he was a force of nature, confidence abounds, like he could break through any barrier with a precisely timed spin, and there he was, hopping down from the stage, coming Sam’s way.
“Shit – sorry. I should have noticed. I get into it during rehearsals, and there’s specific things I know we need to go over when adjusting for a new stage,” said Bucky, extending his hand, “I’m Bucky – though, I guess you already know that.”
Sam took Bucky’s hand, shaking it, and he had a firm grip. Sam turned the handshake, which was probably a weird move, but he was smiling down at the nails, saying, “Sam Wilson. Love the polish. I’ve been thinking of getting my nails done too, but I keep chickening out.”
Bucky bloomed before Sam, just gooey smiles, and Sam couldn’t even understand how this man used to be pitched as sad heartthrob with semi-mediocre love songs, the Winter Soldier. Clearly, someone made a huge mistake when they decided that was the route to go with the man.
“I get it, I’m still getting comfortable with it myself, but I don’t know,” said Bucky holding out the nail polish, inspecting it, “I look at it and think, ‘Yes. This is me’. I really want to get nail art next time. Some cool design. I think there’s a great place in Atlanta that I’m trying to book that does some pieces that are truly works of art. You should definitely come! It’s going to be great. Where’s Nat? Nat has the schedule, right? Or was it Peggy’s turn to set up the extracurriculars?”
And Sam really didn’t expect this to be his first conversation with Bucky, the guy grabbing his hand again, pulling him into the backstage area, calling out, “Peggy? Nat? Are either of you back here?”
A redhead popped her from a dressing room, burrito bowl in hand, looking a little bored as she stared between Bucky and Sam, asking, “What do you need, Bucky? And don’t ask for cats again, you have a cat. This is a two-cat circus. More and we’ll both become road cat ladies.”
“You say that like it’d be a bad thing, Nat,” said Bucky, laughing.
“You say that like it’s a good idea to divulge your deepest desires to the reporter who’s going to be shadowing you for two weeks,” said Nat, “Please don’t tell me that’s what you were going to ask with the reporter in tow.”
“Well, no,” said Bucky, who looked like he wished he was asking for that now and all Sam could do was smile, trying to hold in a laugh, “We’re getting that booking at Piedmont Nails & Spa, right? Could you try to get Sam in too? He’s been meaning to try getting his nails done and what better first time than one of the best places out there, right?”
Nat quirked an eyebrow.
“Did you ask Sam first if he was okay with joining you?” asked Nat, definitely trying to discern whether or not Bucky was dragging Sam in to this.
Bucky turned to Sam and it was as if the entire scene had become the Sam Show. Bucky had that sort of effect. It was strange, Sam wasn’t sure if he’d met someone who could just instantly make you feel like you were the only person in the room like this. Sam was caught off-guard, and because of that, he went along with it, saying, “I’m good with it. Like I said, I’ve been thinking of trying it, but I keep chickening out. It could be a great article for the series anyways.”
Sam had convinced Fury to allow him to dedicate his vertical to Bucky this month. All his articles as well as ones made by the reporters under him, all his platforms, all of them were going to be about this adventure in shadowing Bucky, hopefully ending with a well-thought out piece about the current court battle, Bucky, and what it all means within the music industry in general. He and his team had already done preliminary articles, videos, a podcast on Bucky’s history up until this Cover Tour, getting his audience up to speed on who Bucky was, how he’d been pivotal in the industry beforehand, what was happening to him at the moment, what the Cover Tour was all about, and why it was so important. The next two weeks were going to be about really delving into the man, and the last? Wrapping it all up after Bucky gets his verdict on whether or not he can get out of his contract at the end of the month.
The whole vertical theme was already blowing up, just as Sam thought it would. Because it was hard not to pay attention to Bucky.
Nat gave Sam a moment to back out, to stop himself from agreeing to this, but the more Sam thought about it, the more excited he was getting for it. To have Bucky essentially almost all to himself for an hour in a nail salon, having his first nail experience with the guy. For a moment, he wasn’t even thinking about the vertical; his mind has short-circuited on the idea of it sounding a lot like a very creative first date, and Sam had to tamper that shit down because this was work, not dating, and Bucky was just being nice.
“Okay. I’ll see if I can sort that out. But no more plus ones, I don’t want you asking the sound check guy to come too or anything,” said Nat, grumbling as she moved back into the dressing room, which, from the looks of things, had become an impromptu home base for her and another woman on the floor (Sam guessed this was Peggy) on her own computer as she checked the inventory of the merchandise, glancing up as she said in a British accent, “Oh, the reporter’s already here.”
“Nat and Peggy are sort of in charge of merch sales and what I’m doing on the road,” said Bucky, pointing to the women, “But they also help Steve with the tech stuff. Steve’s actually an artist – he designed the art on the shirts and the cover art for the Cover Song album. You met Steve earlier, right? I saw you two talking.”
The dancers popped their heads into the dressing room, one with a Russian accent asking, “Hey, is rehearsal over? Are we done for today? Is the cutie the journalist you’ve been freaking out about?”
“Yeah, is that your crush?” asked the other one, unable to hold back her snicker.
Bucky turned to them, blushing, saying, “Hey, icks-nay on the alking-tay about the ournalist-jay near him – Sorry about them. They’re. Great. They’re great, but also don’t know when to stop talking. Let me introduce you to Yelena and Leah. We go way back – they were back up dancers with the Howling Commandos. I was actually a backup dancer with them before the team making the boyband learned I could sing too.”
Sam blocked the thought of “crush” for now, settling on the much comfortable thing of being a reporter wanting to get to the bottom of things, asking, “You were a backup dancer for the Howling Commandos?”
“It’s not a well-known piece of information,” Leah said, “I don’t think they wanted people to know the band was essentially built up by random people who didn’t have a relationship before the band’s conception, or that they randomly stole the sweetest backup dancer in the bunch to mold him into a…bad boy.”
Yelena and Leah cackled.
“Hey, I didn’t know that was the direction they wanted to go until they did that,” grumbled Bucky, “And I was too green to know better, to know I had a say in my image.”
“Oh right, you were nineteen when you started in the Howling Commandos, right?” asked Sam, remembering the fun fact of Bucky being the youngest in the group despite them trying to pass Jim Morita off as the baby of the group.
Bucky wobbled his head.
“I sort of started right out of high school, actually,” said Bucky, “I got the job as a backup dancer at eighteen, but that was when the group was working out its kinks. They didn’t actually go public until a year later, when I was part of it.”
“Huh. That’s not common knowledge either,” said Sam, making a note to ask about that later, “It makes sense that the Howling Commandos was one of those bands that was made by the industry rather than an organic group, but huh. What a world that would be, if you were only a backup dancer.”
Bucky shrugged, blushing.
“Would have just become a choreographer by now if I kept on that path,” said Bucky, “But this is good too. I didn’t really know how much I liked singing until Howling Commandos, and I want to keep doing it as long as I can, if I can keep creative control over my work.”
“Well, that’s the plan. With the court battle, I mean. You want creative control and a way out of a toxic environment,” said Sam.
Bucky’s eyes narrowed in on Sam and it felt like the world was Bucky again, the man nodding, his eyes bright, saying, “I’ve been in the dark for so long. Stuck doing whatever the people around me wanted me to do, forced away from friends, family, the people I love. Stuck with people who made me think I was never good enough, made me feel like I’d be nothing without them around, making me dependent on them. But I’m strong. I know that now. I realized that after all the physical therapy, after reuniting with people who actually cared about me that I could be someone without them. I could take hold of my own destiny and move myself forward. And I’m going to show everyone out there in the same position, who are being told they’re nothing without someone that they are something on their own, being told they can’t do anything right by themselves that they can be independent, that they too can have wings and fly free from those making them feel like dirt.”
Sam was mesmerized. By the words. By the confidence and happiness bursting in Bucky’s eyes. Because while the songs were cutting, his words here – they were pure positivity. Not focusing on the malice of the people who did him wrong, but how he can show people that they too can find happier lives and believe in themselves. And Sam couldn’t look away from the sheer hope and kindness that flooded from the words.
“That’s beautiful,” Sam said, just managing to stop himself from saying “You’re beautiful”, because that would be the most unprofessional thing to say.
And Bucky’s smile was blinding.
“Thanks,” said Bucky, heading back to the stage with his backup dancers, leaving Sam to try to not look like he was gathering himself from that intense moment.
Sam reminded himself this was work. That he had to be professional. That he wasn’t going to let whatever these feelings were take over and stop him from writing a great story about this man.
Sam couldn’t fall in love with Bucky Barnes of all people, especially when he and his vertical team were writing an entire event around the man.