Chapter Text
‘I know how they do it.’
‘Oh?’ Coulson sounds cool and disinterested on the phone, but Steve knows him too well - he only sounds that bored when he’s really, really listening.
‘There’s a - slave,’ it’s still hard to say the word, and he’s glad he’s not in front of his boss right now - he’s already blushing. ‘His name’s Jamie. Pierce said he has ‘cop sense’.’
There’s a slight pause - Steve can almost hear the gears turning in Coulson’s head. ‘So he doesn’t know what you are?’
‘No, he does - that’s the thing.’ Steve bites his lip. ‘He warned me. Told me what to do, and then lied to Pierce and said I’m not in law enforcement. He’s outed five guys, but decides he’s going to help me. I don’t get it.’
‘Maybe he’s been playing the long game,’ Coulson replies thoughtfully. ‘If he sacrifices enough people, he can establish himself as trustworthy - then he can let someone through without Pierce suspecting, and the place gets shut down.’ It makes sense. ‘What did you say his name was?’
‘Jamie.’ Steve closes his eyes for a moment. ‘Barnes.’
He hears the soft scrape of pencil on paper as Coulson notes the name. ‘I’ll do some digging, see what I can find on him. Just...be careful, OK?’
‘You don’t need to tell me twice.’
Perhaps he sounds a bit too vehement, because Coulson chuckles before terminating the call.
-
It isn’t the most thrilling job. Walk the building, break up any fights, stop the guests from damaging any ‘assets’ when they’re out on the floor (in the hotel rooms, the guests can do what they like, but they’re expected to behave in public).
Pierce seems to have taken a liking to him. Maybe it’s the ex-military thing, the way Steve behaves towards him with as much deference as if he were a commander. Maybe his clear admiration of attractive men means he likes even his security team to be good-looking. Or maybe, Steve wonders, it’s Jamie’s doing.
Certainly the kid seems to be everywhere. He knows the names of all the bar staff and cleaners, and the other security guards seem to hold him in esteem. He’s in and out of Pierce’s office and - as Steve discovered on more than one night shift - his bedroom, all the time. It would be easy for him to influence the other man into picking Steve to be his personal guard, and he has to wonder if it’s the case.
Whatever the cause, it’s certainly useful. Pierce and Rumlow become more loose-tongued around him every day, and he knows he’s fading into the background, as a good guard should. He doesn’t dare a wire, that would be suicide, but he knows he’s close to overhearing things, close to being able to take a crucial piece of paper or scan something to a flash drive.
That is, when he can tear his eyes away from Jamie.
-
He rounds a corner one day and finds Pierce fucking Jamie hard up against the wall. The older man has his eyes closed and is pulling on Jamie’s hair painfully, yanking his head back as he thrusts - but Jamie’s eyes are open, and his gaze locks onto Steve as he backs away, those eyes following him as he creeps around the corner, praying that Pierce never knew he was there.
Later, he’s out on the floor when a girl approaches him. She’s absolutely, stunningly beautiful, and it takes him a moment to realise who she is: the girl he and Jamie found the other day on the floor of room 405. ‘Hey,’ he greets her, and she returns his smile with a shy one of her own. ‘How are you doing?’
‘All better, thanks,’ she tells him, and as soon as her smile broadens, he recognises it. It’s Jamie’s smile, sleek and confident, and he knows she’s been practising it in front of a mirror all day. It doesn’t look quite right on her face. ‘Jamie said you helped him carry me.’
‘It’s no trouble,’ Steve tells her. ‘You have any more trouble, just come and find me.’ He wishes he could say everything he wants to - wishes he could put her in a taxi straight to Coulson, ask SHIELD to take care of her, but that isn’t possible. So instead he just watches her give a small shrug.
‘Thanks,’ she replies, clearly not believing him, and then she melts into the crowd.
He feels a touch at his elbow and it’s Jamie, of course it’s Jamie: ‘Hey, Captain.’
‘Hey.’
‘Sorry you had to get an eyeful, back there,’ Jamie says, and he’s grinning impudently when Steve looks over at him. ‘What can I say? I’m so fucking hot that sometimes we don’t even make it to the bedroom.’
Steve laughs at that, trying to ignore the blush he can feel rising to his cheeks. ‘Modest, too.’
‘I just tell the truth.’
‘Is that what they call it?’
‘Jerk.’ Jamie shoots him a sidelong smirk, and Steve just keeps on chuckling, shakes his head. There’s something about his eyes that Steve can’t quite work out - he leans closer, sees the telltale glassiness, and frowns.
‘Are you high?’
‘Yeah,’ the kid says, as if it’s obvious, as if Steve is a moron for even asking.
‘What on?’
A shrug. ‘I dunno,’ he’s beginning to frown. ‘We all take it. Keeps us...’ He moves his hand, palm down, in a straight line through the air. ‘...even.’ His eyes flick up to Steve’s face, to his frowning mouth, and Jamie scowls. ‘What?’
‘I...’
‘You would, too,’ Jamie’s fierce now, a hard twist to his mouth, voice low and angry. ‘You’d take it, too. Fuck you, Jake.’
He walks off. Steve can’t follow him without raising suspicion, so he doesn’t.
-
Two months in, a new cleaner starts in the hotel. Steve’s on duty when the woman arrives, middle-aged and clearly a little nervous. He smiles at her, takes her up to Pierce’s office.
Jamie’s sitting on the floor, as ever. His gaze flicks over the woman and, without any intonation, he says: ‘Cop.’
Rumlow doesn’t even look at Pierce for confirmation - he jumps straight to his feet and has the woman by the shoulders before she’s even worked out what’s going on. ‘Are you?’ he grabs her hair, neatly twisted into a bun, and yanks her head back. When she tries to stammer out a denial he hits her, an open-handed slap which forces her neck to twist to the right. She lets out a cry of pain.
‘Are. You. A. Cop?’ Rumlow asks, each word punctuated by a tug on her hair. ‘Hold her,’ he says to Steve, and the words break the strange paralysis he’d been stuck in. Reluctantly he reaches for the woman, pinning her arms to her sides while Rumlow searches her roughly. He looks over the woman’s head at Jamie, who’s keeping his eyes firmly on the floor, his face perfectly blank.
Rumlow makes an interested noise and pulls a phone from an inner pocket of her shirt. It’s a plain, cheap model, and Steve’s heart sinks when he realises what it is: a burner phone.
Just like the one in his own locker.
Rumlow flips it open. There’s only one number programmed - a dead giveaway - and he presses the ‘call’ button, bringing the phone to his ear and smiling at the woman, whose breath is coming in tight, panicked gasps.
Someone obviously answers the phone, because Rumlow says: ‘Big mistake, sending someone to us,’ and then hangs up, tossing the phone onto the floor and crushing it beneath the heel of his boot.
After that, Steve’s job is to hold her while Rumlow beats her up. He forces himself to show no emotion, and only after he’s tossed the woman’s battered, bloody body into a dumpster does he throw up, well out of sight of Rumlow.
-
It is getting worse. He can’t leave the house without locking the door twelve times. He spends twenty minutes washing his face in the morning, fingers dry and cracked from all the soap and water. Sometimes at work he has to stop and do whatever it is he needs to do, feet rooted to the spot.
-
It takes him a little while to come to the serious conclusion that the kid has a deathwish, but once he has, he can’t shake the feeling.
It starts one night in Pierce’s office, when Rumlow makes some remark about ‘Dumb fucking slaves,’ and Jamie looks up from his position at Pierce’s feet.
‘I don’t seem to remember you complaining about any fucking,’ he remarks, a smirk on his lips. It’s flirtatious, casual, but there’s a hint of steel underneath it. Pierce notices and reaches for him, lightning-quick, gripping his wrist tightly. Jamie’s blue eyes snap to the older man’s face, but his expression doesn’t change.
‘Always did have an attitude problem,’ Pierce tells Steve, eyes on Jamie as he gives a thin smile. ‘Been with us three years now, and he’s still got a smart mouth.’
The hand on Jamie’s wrist is white-knuckled, it has to be hurting him, but the kid just gives an easy grin. ‘Thought you liked my mouth, sir?’
Pierce’s other hand comes up and twists sharply in the dark hair. Jamie doesn’t even flinch as his head is pulled closer to his master’s, and Steve shares a quick glance with Rumlow - the other man looks as uncertain as he feels. They watch for a tense moment as Jamie meets Pierce’s gaze, showing none of the discomfort he has to be feeling. Pierce is wearing an indulgent smile, but the ice in his voice belies his expression when he says: ‘If you’re not careful, Jamie, I’ll cut your tongue out.’
Jamie just smiles, a reckless gambler’s smile. ‘Aw, come on, sir...’ His voice is a low and husky drawl, for all the world as if they were flirting. It’s pitched for Pierce’s ears, Steve almost feels guilty for listening. Jamie’s eyes are fixed on the older man’s, the smirk on his face and low tone of his voice making the moment somehow...intimate. As if this is an exchange between two lovers, one he shouldn’t be eavesdropping on.
Jamie’s silky smooth, licking his lips with a deliberately provocative expression. ‘...and take away the best part of me?’ he asks Pierce softly, and Steve isn’t sure whether or not Jamie intended to deliberately position his head so that the light catches a glint of silver on his tongue, but the sight brings back such strong memories of the incident in the hotel room that he can feel the blood rushing to his cheeks.
There’s another pause, but Jamie holds his nerve - and sure enough, Pierce cracks into a smile. He chuckles, shaking Jamie by the hair before pushing him roughly away. ‘Get out of here,’ he says lazily. ‘Make sure you’re back here at eleven. I’m going to have to teach you a lesson.’
One hand on the door, Jamie turns with a smirk. ‘Promises, promises,’ he replies, and then he’s gone.
-
After that, Steve sees it all the time. Jamie steps into fights and manages to diffuse them. He pisses off Rumlow and Pierce to the point where it’s like he wants to get beaten up, and more than once Steve catches him taking a guest meant for one of the other slaves.
‘You don’t want to send Jensen,’ he’ll say to the concierge (or Maria, or Desiree, or Corey, and now Steve thinks of it, it’s always the young ones that Jamie seems to be deflecting from). ‘This guy needs someone more experienced.’
-
‘Sick bay?’ Steve asks, standing in the doorway and looking down at the kid lying on the bed. ‘Again?
Jamie is very still, obviously trying not to hurt himself by moving. ‘What can I say?’ he asks. ‘I like the scenery.’
The room is empty but for the two of them - the nurse has disappeared for lunch, and given Steve strict instructions not to let Jamie out of his sight while she’s gone. Steve sighs. ‘At least he hasn’t cut your tongue out, yet.’
‘Oh, you heard that one, huh?’ Jamie gives a tiny shrug. ‘He’d never actually do it. A finger, maybe, but I wasn’t lying - he really does like my tongue too much to get rid of it.’ His smile is lascivious, and Steve rolls his eyes. ‘What are you doing here, anyway?’ the kid asks, turning his head a fraction so he can see Steve more easily. ‘Don’t worry, you can tell the boss I’ll be back on my feet by this evening.’
Steve can’t help it - he gives a short bark of laughter. ‘As if,’ he replies. ‘You look like death warmed up.’
‘Abby’ll give me some pain meds, and I’ll be fine.’
‘Yeah, right.’ Steve steps into the room and sits down on the nurse’s chair, so that his head is level with Jamie’s. He has to trace the edges of the armrests with his fingertips six times, but he doesn’t think Jamie notices. ‘You need to stay here, man.’
Jamie gives a thin smile. ‘How long have you been here, Captain?’
‘Two months.’
‘And you still don’t get it, do you?’ He stretches out his left leg and gives a slight hiss of discomfort. ‘I’m on duty twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. That’s what being the favourite means. And if I want to keep being the favourite, I have to keep working.’
Steve frowns. ‘Why be the favourite, then?’ As far as he can tell, it doesn’t bring Jamie any joy. He gets the run of the place, and more freedom to talk back than the rest, but Steve has the feeling that Jamie would do that anyway, status or not. ‘If it’s so much work?’
Jamie settles back, closes his eyes. ‘I’ve been in this game since I was six,’ he remarks, saying the words as if they’re nothing more than a quip. Steve freezes, something cold beginning to gather in the pit of his stomach as the slave continues: ‘When I was ten, this guy bought me, and I heard him say once that he had slaves because it stopped him from touching real children.’ His voice is calm, but his hands are clenched fists. ‘And you know what? I got it. I got that we’re here to take it so that other people don’t have to.’
‘Jamie - ’
‘The boss likes ‘em young. I saw the kid who was the favourite before me, and you know what he looked like?’ Jamie opens his eyes again, turns his head to meet Steve’s gaze. ‘It was eating him up. He killed himself six months after I got here. The boss is a demanding guy.’ He looks away. ‘That kid couldn’t handle it. But I knew I could.’
Steve doesn’t know he’s been biting his lip until he tastes blood. ‘So you - you set out to be the favourite...what? So nobody else has to?’
The slave gives a tired nod. ‘Got it in one, Captain,’ he replies quietly, then turns with a grunt of pain, rolling over onto his side, and pulls his t-shirt up until half is back is exposed. The skin is covered in fresh welts, deep bruised belt-marks, which look raw and painful. Steve stifles a gasp at the sight, and Jamie throws a look over his shoulder. ‘This was after the little incident the other day,’ he says. ‘And then last night I had a guest who - it turns out - really gets off on this shit. So at least it was good for something.’
The casual humour in his tone is almost too much for Steve, who’s struck dumb for a moment. Then he gets to his feet, roots through a nearby cabinet until he’s found what he’s looking for - and sits down on the side of Jamie’s bed with a bottle of antiseptic and some cotton in his hands, while the kid gapes at him.
‘Can I?’ he asks, and Jamie gives a wordless, wary nod.
Steve gets to work, gently wiping each wound with the antiseptic. He finishes the lower back and then Jamie shifts, moving onto his front and pulling his shirt up to his shoulders so Steve can do the rest. His face is buried in a pillow to hide any expressions of pain, the muscles in his arms tense, and eventually Steve moves back, suddenly embarrassed by the silence between them.
Jamie pulls himself up onto his elbows, rubbing his face with one hand, and yanks the t-shirt down to cover himself. ‘Thanks.’ His voice is hoarse. ‘Do you, uh - I could - ’
‘No.’ Steve knows what he’s offering, and shakes his head. Don’t be naive, the kid said to him a few weeks ago, but he can’t bring himself to accept any kind of payment for this. ‘This one’s a freebie,’ he says after a moment, and Jamie has a look on his face that he just can’t decipher.
He has to wash his hands that evening until the skin between his fingers starts to peel and bleed, but it’s worth it.
-
Later that night he sees Jamie out in the bar, pupils blown from the pain medication, but still with that alluring smile, the half-turn of the head which manages to engage Pierce from across the room. He walks with a swagger, flirts with the guests, and spends the evening draped over his owner like a scarf as Pierce conducts business deals: the perfect slave.
Steve feels sick.