Chapter Text
There were many things one could say about working in politics.
It consumed your whole life, for starters. It wasn’t the type of work that you could leave at the office and go home to relax, you had to be informed and ready to work at any hour of the day. It was stressful, it was chaotic, it was insane, but God damn it, you loved the adrenaline rush.
You stormed into Bucky’s office, waving your phone in the air like a flag.
“He fucked up!” you exclaimed. “He fucked up!”
Bucky exchanged glances with Sam who looked as clueless as he was, and turned to you. “Hm?”
“He fucked up!”
“I heard what you said, who fucked up?”
You grinned and held the phone to your eye level.
“After the news article uncovering the CEO’s donations to the city council member, the construction in Bedford Avenue has been halted—”
“Can I see that?”
“I’m not reading anything, this is a video of cute foxes,” you admitted, turning the screen to him. “I just saw the article on my laptop and rushed here like Paul Revere. I figured it would make me look more professional if I pretended to read it from my phone.”
Sam raised his brows. “You could’ve found the website on your way here?”
“I was in a hurry.”
“You could’ve printed the article out, there are like one hundred computers out there,” Bucky said and both you and Sam turned to look at him better.
“Print it out just to show you?” Sam asked as if he wanted to make sure he heard him right and Bucky nodded.
“Yeah, why not?”
You heaved a sigh. “No wonder why we have to get phishing training every week if this is the pace you keep up with the technology.”
“I was born in 1917.”
“And I was in a hurry,” you insisted. “Besides, you can’t judge me for my actions in the past, I put that behind me.”
“The couple of seconds you spent walking here from your desk doesn’t count as the past, and there’s nothing wrong with printing things out, for the record.”
“I’ll just send you the articles as handwritten letters.”
Sam let out a chuckle and stood up.
“Good job on the Bedford Avenue.”
“Why thank you,” you said with a bright smile and he nodded at Bucky.
“And we’ll see you tonight?”
“Absolutely, tell Sarah I said hi.”
“Will do,” Sam said and walked out of the office while you plopped down on the chair across from Bucky’s desk, your eyes glued to your phone before a laugh escaped your lips.
“Another article,” you said. “This feels better than actually having sex, do you know what this means?”
“I know it doesn’t mean anything good for your boyfriend.”
You waved a hand in the air.
“Shut it—this dude is one of the biggest donors for the opposition. If they shut down the construction, they’ll drag him to court.”
“Seems that way.”
“Which means he will be dragged through the mud and then we’re going to win—” You slammed your hand on the coffee table. “Bow down bitches!”
Bucky repressed a smile and you took a deep breath, leaning back on the chair.
“People seem to think his wife is also involved,” you said. “Wouldn’t surprise me if they got a divorce.”
“Are you always this delighted at others’ misfortune?”
“When they’re pouring money to our opposition, yes I am,” you said. “I’ve been competitive ever since I lost that first grade spelling bee.”
“No wonder you didn’t put that on your resume.”
“My point about not being judged for my past,” you told him, making him chuckle.
“Fair.”
“So you’re meeting Sam and Sarah tonight?”
“For dinner, yeah. It’s been a while since I saw Cass and AJ.”
“Aw, they’re the cutest!”
“How about you?” he asked. “Any plans with the uh-with the boyfriend?”
You pursed your lips, then shrugged your shoulders.
“I did, but he’s too busy for tonight so we postponed it.”
He tilted his head, frowning in confusion and you sat up straighter.
“It’s nothing,” you said. “It’s just, one of the senior partners at the firm he works at, apparently he’s dating an ex-employee so it’s a shit show.”
“Why?”
“Boss and employee. Doesn’t matter how in love they are.”
“You said an ex-employee.”
“Oh yeah, she started working somewhere else a while ago, but it doesn’t matter,” you said. “Ex or not, dating an employee or your boss is like, the worst thing anyone could ever do. It’s business suicide.”
Bucky swallowed and nodded fervently.
“Yeah!” he said. “Yeah that makes sense. Because who would—I mean you’d never.”
You grimaced, thinking about Bucky’s campaign manager who happened to be your boss at the moment.
“I’d start screaming,” you said. “And also, apparently he’s older than her? Which, don’t get me wrong, I love listening to Lana Del Rey as much as anyone but a ten-year age gap?”
Bucky blinked a couple of times, then nodded again.
“Right,” he said. “That’s a lot. That’s a decade.”
“Exactly.” You crossed your fingers and looked up at the ceiling. “I keep Pedro Pascal out of that generalization, universe. I do not care how old he is, he is the exception, send him my way.”
“Do I want to know who he is?”
“Everyone should know who he is,” you told him and checked your phone again. “I need to get to the bottom of this CEO thing, doesn’t hurt to be well-informed.”
“Have you taken a break today?”
“I’ll take a break in DC—” you started but turned your head when the campaign manager knocked on the door, and peeked his head in.
“Hey, got a minute?”
Bucky looked at you as if asking for permission and you jumped on your feet.
“I was just leaving,” you said. “But hey, you owe me one.”
“I owe you plenty,” Bucky said with a small smile that made your heart skip a happy beat and you lingered there for a moment before making your way out of the office, biting back a grin.
Fine, maybe you were a bit of a workaholic but in your defense, the campaign was going so well, so this was the least you could do to make sure Bucky would win.
You repressed a yawn, stealing a look at the city lights shining in the night before turning your attention to the screen, but your head shot up when you noticed someone entering the bullpen. Your stomach did a pleasant flip and you sat up straighter, taking your earbuds out.
“Hey.”
“You’re not going to listen to me if I tell you to go home, are you?” Bucky asked and you stretched out your arms, making a face.
“Nope,” you said. “What are you doing here? I thought you left.”
“I did, but I forgot something in my office,” he said, leaning back to the empty desk across from yours and you hummed.
“You do realize you could’ve asked someone to bring it to you?”
“I’m not gonna do that,” he said as if the idea was ridiculous before looking around the empty bullpen. It was mostly dark, illuminated by only the light of the screens and the city outside, and you couldn’t help but notice just how handsome—
Objectively, that was.
He was objectively a handsome man.
“Hm?” You snapped out of your daze when you realized he had asked you a question and he shot you a look.
“Did you take a break today?”
“Yeah I stepped outside for five minutes,” you said. “It’s plenty.”
Bucky blinked a couple of times. “I’m begging you to go home.”
“I will after I’m finished with this.” You gestured at the screen and then snapped your fingers. “Before I forget…”
You grabbed the printed out news article on your desk and handed it to him, making him let out a chuckle.
“Seriously?”
“Mm hm.”
“Thanks, I guess?”
“And your speech for tomorrow—the edited version, I printed that out and Caleb took it to your place so that you can go over it after dinner, I know you like adding stuff in the margins,” you said. “You sent a fruit basket and a personal get well soon card to Commissioner Michaels, he had a small accident, nothing important, and also you sent flowers to Ellen Cooper, she wrote that nice article about you and apparently her daughter just graduated college.”
Bucky tilted his head. “I did all that?”
“Well no, I did all that,” you said. “But I can fake your signature and your handwriting, so as far as they’re concerned, it’s from you.”
“How do you do all this?” he asked and you wiggled your brows.
“I’m a genius,” you said and paused for a moment. “My psychiatrist has a different theory but I like mine better.”
The smile on Bucky’s face was soft, a gentle gleam playing in his piercing blue eyes as he stared at you, then frowned to himself.
“I uh—I got you something.”
You could feel your heart slamming against your ribcage. “I’m sorry?”
He reached into his jacket to pull a tiny fox figure out of his inner pocket, a burst of laughter bubbling in your chest before it spilled from your lips and he put the figure on your desk while you covered your mouth, a warmth dripping in your chest.
“You mentioned you like foxes so…”
You pressed a hand on your chest, smiling wide as you took it to your hand to see it better.
“Aw, thank you!” you said. “You know, I’m gonna adopt a fox one day.”
“I don’t think you can do that.”
“I work in politics, I’ll just bribe a politician or something,” you brushed him off and put the figure on the desk again. “He is so sweet! I’ll call him Bucky.”
“Please don’t.”
“Buchanan.”
“Also no.”
“I do not take constructive criticism at this point in my life, shut it,” you said, pointing a finger at him and he held up his hands, gesturing surrender.
“Fine, fine…” he said and you let out a giggle.
“But seriously, thank you,” you said. “I appreciate it.”
“Don’t mention it,” Bucky said with a shrug of his shoulders and you nibbled on your lip, still staring up at him. He held your gaze in his before he took a deep breath, and cleared his throat.
“I should—I should go,” he said and you tried to ignore the disappointment at the pit of your stomach.
“Oh right, tell Sarah and Sam I said hi,” you said. “And kiss Cass and AJ for me.”
“Of course,” he said. “I’ll send Dave here, he can drive you home when you’re done.”
You shook your head. “Bucky, I can just—”
“You’re not going home by yourself at this hour.”
“I’ll be fine—”
“I won’t be, because I’ll be worried about you,” he said, making your heart skip a beat. “Please?”
You rolled your eyes playfully. “Okay.”
“Thank you,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
You nodded.
“Sure,” you said. “See you tomorrow.”
Your eyes followed him as he walked out of the bullpen and you heaved a sigh before taking the fox figure into your hand again, a smile warming your face. You stared at it, then swallowed thickly and put the figure on the desk again.
“Get your shit together,” you muttered to yourself, brushing a hand over your face. “You have stuff to do.”