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drabbles-mc · 1 day ago

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Good Press (2)

Bucky Barnes & F!Reader

Written for Week 8 of Hot Bucky Summer: “Have it your way, then.”

Warnings: 18+, language, pre-Thunderbolts*, no use of Y/N, slow burn/eventual relationship

Word Count: 2.9k

A/N: i want these two to bicker forever 😌

You didn’t hear from Bucky at all for the rest of the afternoon. Not that you’d expected anything less. You were camped out comfortably in the back of the car. Bag positioned by your feet, one leg crossed over the other as you typed away on your phone.

The car hadn’t been stopped in front of Bucky’s hotel for very long. Still, you were halfway through the process of finding his number in your contact list just in case. If he’d decided he was bailing, that was fallout you’d figure out how to navigate. But you wanted to make sure that that was actually the case.

Right before you hit the call button, the door on the opposite side of the car from you opened up. Looking up from your phone’s screen, you smiled when you saw Bucky sliding into the back seat. He shut the door with a little more force than necessary, but you knew how much damage he could’ve done if he really wanted to, so you decided not to comment on it.

“Was a little worried for a moment there,” you said.

He watched as your attention returned to your phone. “What, thought I took off?”

Without missing a beat, you said, “Well, it wouldn’t be the first time you ran off and went into hiding, now would it?”

There was no arguing that. Neither of you said anything more as the car pulled back out onto the road and began to make its way to the location of the Q&A. Bucky watched as you kept yourself busy. He had no idea what exactly it was that you were doing, but he figured it was for him and if his campaign was paying you to do it all, it must be pretty important. He was just glad it was something that he didn’t have to deal with. There seemed to be enough pointless things that he was already doing.

“I see you brought the folder with you,” you said, eyes still fixed on your phone screen.

“Um, yeah.” He drummed his fingers on it. “Was I not supposed to?”

Setting your phone face down in your lap, you finally looked at him head-on. “No, no you’re fine. Looks good to be showing up prepared.” You paused. “Do you want to run through some scenarios while we’re on our way?”

He shook his head. “You really don’t think I can handle this, do you?”

You laughed. “You must think an awful lot of yourself, Mr. Barnes, if you think that I’m giving you such special treatment so early on.” You let your words hang in the air for a moment. “This is what I offer every candidate I work with, especially newer ones.”

His eyes narrowed as he watched you. Even though there were still miles of distance between you, you had no doubt that he was currently trying to figure out how genuine you were being. That was fair. People had a history of lying to him, and the political arena wasn’t exactly known for being a pillar of truth and honesty. If anyone understood that, it was someone with your background in damage control. This time, though, you were telling him the truth. Anyone new to the scene, to the public eye in this way, got handled with kid gloves.

“I’ll be fine,” he said when you’d lost count of how many seconds had passed.

You wanted to argue with him. His definition of ‘fine’ and yours didn’t look the same—you didn’t need to be exceptionally intelligent to figure that one out. All of his time in the public eye he’d been talked at, not to. And he certainly hadn’t been getting asked questions that anyone really wanted his answers to. People only asked him specific things because they knew that they were going to get specific reactions. What he was walking into tonight wasn’t going to be anything like that.

“You’re sure?” you asked, trying to keep your tone as neutral as possible.

It wasn’t enough to stop his jaw from tightening. “I read what you gave me—that should be enough, right?”

You chuckled and picked your phone back up. “I don’t think you care what my answer to that question is, so I won’t even bother.”

The fact that you were choosing not to engage in an argument about it had him trying to argue further. He felt it happening and he wanted to stop it but he couldn’t. So many things felt out of his control these last few weeks. Now he felt like he was losing control of himself too.

“There’s nothing that anyone can ask me about that I don’t already know about myself. The things I’ve done, people know that now.” He gestured to your phone. “There’s no damage control to do on that because it’s already happened.”

His words registered while you were halfway through tapping out an email on your phone. Your thumbs paused, and you pressed your lips into a flat line as you tried to figure out what you were going to say in response to him. “Figuring out how to make everything that you’ve done palatable is only half the battle. Because you’re right—it’s already out there and there’s only so much to be done about it.” Your apparent agreeance with him made confusion take over his face. “The other half is what I’m worried about.”

“What’s the other half?”

The laugh that slipped out of you was involuntary, and far more sarcastic than what was professional. “Your lack of knowledge in navigating politics is what I’m really worried about. That, and your communication skills so far seem to leave a lot to be desired.”

“It’s not my fault your assistant was—”

“I hate to break it to you, Mr. Barnes, but part of this game you’ve decided to play does involve getting people to like you. That’s…that’s most of it actually. People will forgive a startling amount of ignorance if you’re likeable. Normally that’s a scary notion, but it could work out great in your favor if you learned to loosen up a bit and not look like—”

“Like what?”

“Like you want to loft everyone out of the nearest window.”

He’d opened his mouth to argue but snapped it shut again. He wanted to tell you that you were wrong, but he couldn’t say that to you and also believe it. In his defense it wasn’t as though he wanted to loft everyone out the nearest window, but of all the people he’d had to meet with so far, there were plenty that would make it easy for him to do it.

“If I start being nice to everyone all the time, no one is going to believe that either.”

His response got a more genuine laugh out of you. “You don’t need to treat everyone like they’re your best friend. You just, you know, you have to act a little more personable. That’s part of the whole shaking hands, kissing babies part of campaigning.”

“I’m not kissing anyone’s babies.”

You rolled your eyes and went back to typing your email. “Your dedication to selective hearing and misconstruing my points does give me a little more hope for your political future.”

The rest of the ride passed in silence. You went back and forth between your phone and the folders tucked in your bag, and Bucky seemed to pinball between rereading what you’d given him, and staring intently at the headrest to the passenger seat in front of him. There was no use in even trying to venture a guess as to what he was thinking. There was even less of a point in trying to ask him about it.

You’d worked with prickly candidates before, even quiet ones. There was always an angle you could still use despite those types of things though. At the start of your career, back before you got to be a little more picky about who you worked with, you’d even taken jobs with folks that were pretty difficult to paint in a positive light because you didn’t particularly see one in them.

Bucky Barnes seemed to be existing in a realm outside either of those things, though. You knew that he was a good man with good intentions, no matter what had happened in his past. Anyone who put that much work into turning their life around, who seemed to be friends with not one, but two Captain America’s, had to have something going for them. You never knew Steve personally, and while you and Sam Wilson may have existed in the same rooms together a few times over the years, you’d never had any direct interactions with them. But what you knew of both of them as people, and how they’d each fought for Bucky, there was no way that there wasn’t something good and redeemable in him, something that people these days needed.

You just had to find it somewhere underneath all the glares, clenched jaws, and sarcastic dismissals.

The car pulled around to the side of the building rather than the front. While there wasn’t the amount of chaos at the front of the building that there was for larger elections, you figured any small avoidance of clamor would work out in Bucky’s favor. Any by extension, yours as well. Those were the types of things you figured you would have to ease him into. You didn’t know what that was going to look like, but you’d figure it out together.

“Normally I’d offer to stay close by just out of sight for these kinds of things in case you need anything.” You unbuckled your seatbelt before sliding your bag into its usual resting place in the crook of your arm. “But I’m assuming you don’t feel you need that?”

"I think I’ll be alright. It’s just a, what’d they call it, a Town Hall?”

You chuckled, impressed that he’d paid that much attention to any of the emails and notices that went out to his team about it. “It’s Town Hall style, yeah. So it’s a panel, and there will be folks in the audience raising their hands to ask questions of you and the other candidates.”

He shrugged. “So it’s not even just me. I’ll be fine. You probably don’t even need to stay. Go home early or something.”

There was no way that was going to happen. You knew better than to let it dissolve into another thing to bicker about, though. “Have it your way, then,” you said as you pushed the car door open and stepped out.

What you would’ve given to have seen the change in his expression. He was opening the door and hopping out onto the sidewalk faster than you’d seen him do anything so far. “Really?”

You barked out a laugh. “Hell no. But I won’t be waiting for you behind the scenes.”

“Where are you going to be, then?”

You started to walk into the building and Bucky had no choice but to follow you if he wanted to hear your answer to the question. “I’ll be lurking and lingering in the back of the room. Maybe just outside of it. Close enough to hear everything that’s going on.”

“You don’t have t—”

“I do, though. I do have to.” You pushed open a door that led you both into another hallway that Bucky still didn’t recognize. “It’s my job. So I'll be nearby, and I’ll be listening. But I won’t be saying anything. Won’t even look at you if you don’t want me to.”

“Everyone else will be,” he muttered.

You chuckled. “Yeah. That’s another one of those things that you should probably get used to if you’re going to stick it out with the politics thing.”

When he didn’t say anything in response to that, you stopped walking long enough so that he could land next to you. Phone in one hand, folder in your other, Bucky tried to get a read on the look in your eyes. He wondered if you’d always been that good at hiding what you genuinely thought, or if it was a skillset that you built because of your profession. You didn’t waver beneath the weight of his gaze. It played well with the rest of the image that you had created of yourself. Sensible but still fashionable black shoes with just enough heel to click on the tiled floors you were always quickly walking across. Slacks and blouses that must’ve been tailored by whoever you’d sent his suit off to with how well the fabric fell across you. Not a single thing out of place. Nothing to give away—it was admirable and infuriating all at once.

“I can’t tell if you think I’m gonna make it or not.”

You shrugged. “Lawyers don’t want to know if their client is guilty or not.”

His brows furrowed as he tried to rationalize what you’d just said. “So…I’m the lawyer in this scenario?”

“No—you’re a congressman,” you joked. The fact that his facial expression didn’t shift in the slightest told you that your joke didn’t land. You knew that he got it though. Crossing the hallway, you pushed a seemingly random door open. Putting yourself halfway into the room on the other side, you waved Bucky over to follow you. “This is where you’ll all be.”

Bucky stood in the doorway beside you and took in the room. As he looked around, he realized that he didn’t know what he’d expected. There was a long table up on a stage at the opposite end of the room from where they were standing. Judging by the microphones and the patriotic table coverings, that was where he and the other candidates were going to be sitting. There were rows and rows of chairs set up for attendees. None of them were filled yet, and for a moment he allowed himself to entertain the thought that no one would show.

Like you were inside his head, you broke the silence with, “Folks get let in, in about five minutes. They get ten minutes to settle, get their questions and notepads out, and then you and the rest of the candidates will get brought in to sit up front.”

Bucky nodded. It all seemed simple enough. “And you’ll be lurking back here in the doorway.”

Smiling, gave him a nod. “That’s the plan.”

“Things start going badly for me, then what? You pull the fire alarm?”

“That’s not the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”

He took a deep breath and looked down at the folder in his hands. He stared hard at the cover like he could see straight through it. Suddenly it all felt very real. His perfectly-tailored suit began to feel like it was suffocating him. The tie was too tight, shoes too uncomfortable.

“Do I have to give you a hand signal to get you to do it?” he asked.

It was the closest thing he’d given you to a joke since you’d met him, so you took it for what it was worth. “No hand signal needed. I’ll just see the fear in your eyes and make a run for it.”

“That guy you hired also a getaway driver?”

“We need to make a fast getaway then I’m the one getting behind the wheel.” He didn’t look amused at that so you doubled down. “Trust me, that’s what you want. I’ve seen every Fast and Furious movie.” When you didn’t see recognition on his face, you tried to explain. “They’re about these guys who—”

“I can infer that, yeah. The title kind of gets the point across.”

“Right. Well, if—”

Your sentence was interrupted by a young woman carrying a clipboard and looking extremely frazzled. Her eyes were wide and you could tell that she felt bad interrupting your conversation but she didn’t have much of a choice. She worked for someone, and you had no doubt that they were running her ragged and not paying her nearly enough.

“Excuse me, Mr. Barnes. I have to bring you back with the rest of the candidates—they’re going to be letting everyone in soon.”

Bucky looked at you and you gave him a nod of reassurance. “Go. I’ll find the fire alarm.” You saw the fear go across the girl’s face and held your hands up in surrender, fingers still curled around your phone. “I’m kidding. Just a joke.”

She stared at you a moment longer, trying to figure out if she believed you or not. Maybe if everything else about you didn’t make you seem like the professional that you were, she would’ve had you removed from the building. It wasn’t the battle she was currently choosing to pick, though. Her attention shifted to Bucky as she gestured for him to continue making his way down the hall to whatever room they had everyone else currently waiting in.

You watched after them as they walked away. Bucky didn’t turn back to look at you, not that you expected him to. What he did do, though, was open up the folder that you’d given him with the questions and answers. He flipped through the pages briefly as he exited the hallway into the appropriate room, and you tried to gauge how nervous for this thing either of you really were.

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