Red Flag Race | Bucky Barnes

Prologue.

Bucky's foot was tapping anxiously against the ground. The sound of people chatting, cutlery grating on plates, and coffee machines filled his ears, only serving as a reminder to his current situation. He checked his watch, noting that only 30 seconds had passed since he last checked.

Every time he heard the front door to the small diner open, his head would snap to see who was walking in. Steve, Sam and the rest of his team were only a few minutes late but the thoughts of why they could be left his head spinning.

He didn't usually get nervous for meetings with his team, but he knew that he really fucked up this time.

"Hey Buck." He looked up to see his team sitting down around the table. "How are you feeling? How're the ribs?" Steve asked, genuine concern in his voice

"Uh, they're okay. Still bruised, though." Bucky replied, trying not to show his nerves. He looked around the table, Steve sitting on his left, Sam at the head of the table, Jesse, his publicist, and Luke, his race engineer, sitting opposite him. They all had the same look in their eyes; pity. "How bad is it?"

Jesse handed him a tablet, Google open with "James Barnes" in the search bar. Bucky took the tablet cautiously and sighed deeply before reading the news articles.

James "Bucky" Barnes drunken crash...again!

Bucky Barnes arrested and hospitalised after drunk night out

James Barnes racing career over? One more crash and he's done!

Shit.

"We managed to keep a lot of the details out of the press but there were still some witnesses who spoke to them." Jesse explained as he took the tablet back.

Bucky groaned, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his hands over his face. He could still smell the oil on them from when he was working on his bike two days ago. It usually comforted him, the smell of oil and cleaning chemicals, reminding him of racing and riding his motorbike. But today? Today it only made him feel even worse than the killer hangover he was still getting over.

"A simple statement won't get the association off our backs this time Buck. They warned you that the punishments would start coming in if you fucked up one more time." Steve said. Steve had been his manager since he started riding professionally when he was 18. He's put up with eight years of bullshit and somehow always manages to remain calm.

"What did they say this time?"

"They don't want you to be out in public without us for a while, or at least without some form of security. And they want you to do something to win back some favour. There has been a bit of uproar from the racing community, and your fans are quite upset." Jesse relayed the message he had got from the Shield Racing director, Nick Fury.

Bucky sighed deeply, the beginnings of a splitting headache forming. As he looks back on it now, he can see that 9 shots of tequila, 4 beers and 2 pills might not have been a good mix. Add that with his motorcycle and his inability to go 10 seconds without trying to impress some girls, it was a disaster waiting to happen.

"It's gonna be okay, buddy. You're the best racer they've got, you know that they'd never get rid of you." Sam attempted to console, patting a hand firmly on Bucky's shoulder.

"Yes, but they do want you to scrub up your image a bit, alright?" Steve added, Bucky nodding along in understanding. He had been let off the hook a lot for all of the shit he'd pulled, but the feeling of invincibility that he'd had since he joined Shield had begun to wear off in the last couple of months, so he understood that he had to get his shit together.

"What do I have to do?" Bucky had guessed doing some charity work, doing some work with kids, stuff like that. He wasn't expecting what came out of Steve's mouth at all.

"Shield is now an official sponsor of the New York City Ballet company," oh shit, "and you are the official spokesperson."

You've got to be fucking kidding.