Work Text:
The moment Tony stepped into the frame, the venue erupted in applause. Spotlights tracked his every step—his confident posture, the exquisite stubble that peeked through his smiles, those bright, sparkling eyes that seemed to glow. A casual lift of his hand sent flashbulbs into a frenzy. Even someone as cold-blooded as Bucky had to admit: he was the world’s darling, born to stand at the center of every gaze.
The stage lights blazed too harshly. Bucky Barnes adjusted his camera’s aperture, bringing the figure back into sharp focus. His knuckles tightened and loosened against the cold metal, capturing a shot polished enough for any magazine spread. His left arm, hidden beneath a thick jacket and tactical glove, let out a faint whir from its mechanical joints with each movement—drowned out by the crowd’s din. Not far away, Tony Stark sat on a couch, pinned in place by a microphone and the crosshair of the camera lens—a perfect target.
Bucky let out a slow breath beneath his black mask, setting the camera aside. His fingertips brushed the shockproof security case at his feet。though inside, there were no camera lenses, just a disassembled sniper rifle
His peripheral vision caught the man in the adjacent seat—brim of his cap pulled low, a hood drawn over it, tall in stature, his face hidden from view as he sketched rapidly in a sketchbook with a pencil. Though his posture seemed relaxed, the defined muscles of his arms and the coiled tension in his bearing made it clear: this was no ordinary street artist.
Bucky’s breath caught in his throat. A jolt of alarm shot through him. When had he sat down here? With his own level of alertness, how could he have let a stranger intrude into such close proximity without the slightest awareness?
“Did you come for him too?”
The man paused his brush, looked up and smiled at him. It was a kind face that would make people of all ages let their guard down and feel close to him, like the kind of good person who would buy ice cream for a lost child on a park bench.
Bucky stayed silent, cautious.
“No need to tense up,” the man said. “I’m not here to cause trouble. I know people like us showing up in public always makes others nervous. But don’t worry— I’m just like you.”
His gaze drifted to the stage, softening as he watched the figure commanding the room, firing back witty retorts that had the audience roaring.
His gaze shifted to the center of the stage, fixing gently on the figure up there who commanded the room with effortless poise. Who was firing back at the interviewer’s sharp questions with quick wit, sending the entire audience into fits of laughter.
“Do you know me?”
The other party glanced at his left hand, which was wrapped up to the fingertips, his eyes filled with apology.
“Sorry about your loss.”
Bucky cursed internally. Shit，he knew that his shoddy, full-of-holes organization was unreliable, but getting ambushed by a fellow operative mid-assassination? That easily ranked in the top three of his most wanted-to-forget dark histories.
The invisible sense of oppression in the air made passers-by quicken their steps involuntarily, detouring far around this dangerous corner. But the two men in their seats might as well have been in their own world, calm as could be.
“Loss?” Bucky scoffed. “I’d call it an opportunity. It’s way more useful than a fragile human arm.”
Without this prosthetic, he never could’ve handled high-recoil guns or heavy artillery one-handed—let alone maintained stability. And it was perfect for hiding his identity. Who’d suspect a disabled veteran with one arm?
The man looked impressed, then glanced at the heavy case at Bucky’s feet, as if figuring something out.
“That sounds like a perfect fit for you.“ His tone was so sincere it was sickening. “I’m Steve.”
Bucky narrowed his eyes and saying nothing. He wasn’t about to trade fake names with some random stranger. They weren’t that chummy.
Steve didn’t seem bothered by his coldness. “I can’t get the hang of all these new gadgets,” he went on, a hint of affectionate frustration in his voice. “A friend tried to get me into modern equipment—said I was too old-school. But they feel… off. Clunky, hard to move with. First time I used one, I held it wrong and hurt myself. Missed the perfect shot, and the work I ended up with wasn’t even that satisfying.”
The words hit too close to home. made Bucky feel a twinge of melancholy. It brought back memories of the rehabilitation days when he was still adapting to his left arm.
“So you prefer the old ways?” he asked.
“Absolutely. They never let you down.”
“Then what’s your favorite ‘shot’?”
“The precious moment when the subject drops their guard? I prefer the natural ease that comes with time spent together. What about you?”
Bucky frowned. That didn’t sound like a pro talking about a target. More like some creep with a fetish.
Bucky felt a flicker of confusion. That didn’t sound like something a professional hitman would do to a target—if anything, it sounded more like the twisted serial killer.
“Uh... the opposite， I guess. I prefer those unguarded, offhand moments when the target isn’t even aware—those chances don’t come often, and they take plenty of distance and patience to pull off.”
“Right. Those bright, fleeting seconds.”
Bucky followed his gaze. Tony was blowing a kiss to the crowd, setting off a ripple of excitement. Up front, a few young girls clapped a hand over their mouths, starstruck.
He sighed. He should’ve been scouting a sniper nest before the interview ended, but the idiots at Hydra could wait. He deserved a minute.
“Aren’t you worried about the distance?” Steve asked. “I’d think everyone’d want to get close—to feel the real thing.”
Yep, definitely a creep.
“…No, I think this distance works just fine. Most of the time, it’s a hassle having to stake out for hours on end, and weather and visibility play havoc with the equipment，but close-range work carries way too much risk.”
Steve nodded thoughtfully, a faint smile playing on his lips.
“I get it,” he said, his voice softening. “Sometimes getting too close makes you miss the big picture. And I suppose you can’t get near anyway.”
Bucky scoffed. His stealth and recon scores were top-tier. He preferred sniping for the easy exit, not because he couldn’t handle close-quarters.
“Guess you’re more successful than a klutz like me, hauling my tools around everywhere?” Bucky shot back, sarcastic.
“Not really. I need just as much prep to get something I’m proud of.” The man brushed the edge of his sketchbook, his thumb catching on the rough paper.
Bucky grunted，pretending to fiddle with his camera. Through the viewfinder, he saw Tony Stark nod in their direction—and even more startling, the man beside him smile back, almost shyly.
Bucky stared at him in near-disbelief. After all, Stark’s value and his notoriously high difficulty level were both legendary on assassination lists. Everyone in the business knew: any suspicious individual who got close to Stark would be quietly eliminated by a professional bodyguard codenamed "Captain."
As Tony wrapped up the interview, the hooded man—Steve—stood, polite as ever.
“I should go too. Got actual work to do.” Steve nodded toward Tony’s retreating figure. “Nice talking to you. If you stick with this, maybe we’ll run into each other again. Could grab a drink sometime.”
He stood up and shook his hand, noticing the calluses in those peculiar spots—which only served to confirm his suspicions.
“Sure.”
Bucky watched Steve leave, then glanced down at his camera. The op had only netted a few high-res shots of the target. But meeting a “fellow operative” who could get close to Stark? That might be more valuable than pulling the trigger himself.
END
Riddler decoding:
Just like you: Both are veterans, and both are fans of Tony.
Old-school style: Prefers paper and pen over digital photography.
Injured by a friend's equipment: Tony, who disdains that there could be a high-tech outsider around a tech guru, forced a full set of digital painting and high-end camera equipment on Steve to support his hobby. As a result, not only was he unaccustomed to using the drawing tablet, but maintaining the wrong shooting posture for a long time also led to muscle strain.
Enjoys unguarded moments: Likes to watch Tony dozing and resting, which is convenient for depicting and recording, and also very cute.
Bucky can't get close to Tony easily: Illegal candid photography will result in the seizure of the tools used for the act.
Preliminary preparations for a perfect work: Composition research, sketch drafts, and repeated revisions.
Original job: Tony's personal bodyguard.