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Bucky tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. The overhead lights are hot and blinding, and he feels every fold of fabric against his skin, taut and sticky with sweat. Stark had thought to do a press conference in a goddamn heat wave, and because of his luck, now was the time they’d decided to include him for questions. Questioning, interrogations, he can do that. He’s used to it; in clipped tones to see if he functioned properly, in gentle tones to see if he was ‘all there’.
He slides his gaze over the dark mass of press and camera lights, settling on the strong curves and lines of Steve’s back as he answers another question about how he’s adjusting, because there haven’t been enough of those.
Bucky shifts in his seat, irritable. He’s dressed in a tailored suit, feeling a slow rise of nausea. Before the war, he’d taken pride in his appearance when he could—when he had a few cents that weren’t being used for Steve or anything else, he’d shave, get some cologne, jar of Brylcreem and he was out the door. Three piece suit, shiny shoes, the works.
Now he’s wearing skinny pants because Natasha insisted.
Either it’s the lights or he’s put on a few, because there’s no way this suit should be so tight and he’s freakin’ melting.
He hasn’t cut his hair so it’s slicked back and tied, loose strands sticking to his sweaty forehead. The handout for the press conference crinkles in his metal hand.
"You look like you might swallow your own tongue," Natasha says quietly.
"If I did, do you think it’ll get me out of this mess?" Bucky responds through gritted teeth.
"No," she says.
Steve finishes a joke and the press laugh, a rumbling echo through the room. Bucky feels his mouth twitch up at the corners on instinct, looking at the back of Steve’s head.
Natasha pats Bucky’s knee. “That’s it, smile. Not too much. Be mysterious.”
"That’s rich, comin’ from you—"
"You’re up," she whispers, tapping Bucky on the shoulder. There’s a swell of noise, flashes that go off as Bucky gets to his feet and takes the podium. Steve shakes his hand and then stands nearby, smiling gently.
If it’s too much, give me a squeeze and we walk, Steve had said. Steve had also said a few colorful phrases at the idea of Bucky answering questions at a press conference, but Bucky pointed out it might do them good in the public eye. It’d been over a year since he had resurfaced, months since their battle with Ultron. Steve had his share of the press and their reaction to the Winter Soldier after the SHIELD files were released, but Bucky helping during the Ultron battle seems to have mollified them a bit.
In the meantime, Bucky kept to himself—and to Steve—in this time, trying to shake a few cobwebs out, clear his mind. Keeping busy and helping Steve and Sam had done him good, but he knew this would happen.
Even back in the war, he’d dreaded the photo ops—it’s putting on a show, trying to say a few quips for the newsreels. The best moments were the between times, that loop of Bucky smiling at Steve at the Smithsonian proof of this.
“Hi,” Bucky starts, gripping the edge of the podium. He feels a chunk of it crunch under his metal fingers. There’s a low rumble of laughter before the questions start.
He manages to get through it well enough—it’s another mission, in a way. He’s had a crash course in public relations (and a conversation or two with Steve), and he remembers enough of Steve’s speeches now, back in the war, to draw something from them. Maybe not the words—he’s never been that kind of guy, not really—but the strength and conviction.
If he peppers his answers with “um” or “I don’t know”, well, he’s trying.
They laugh at his brief throwaway line about watching Steve when growing up, and then they ask him about their relationship now.
Steve leans in, clears his throat. “Bucky is a valued member of the team and we’re proud to call him an Avenger.”
He’s briefly grateful Stark had stepped out of the room for a phone call but he’s at the edge of the room giving a thumbs-up and pulling faces.
Bucky still dislikes him.
"Steve is my best friend," Bucky says. He licks his lips. "He’s my partner."
"We’re partners," Steve repeats. He side eyes Bucky.
"More than partners?" comes a lone voice in the back. Bucky hopes to God it isn’t Stark and a cursory glance tells him it isn’t.
"That’s for him and I to decide,” Steve states, just as Bucky answers, "Yeah, I, uh, guess we are?"
Bucky opts for a smile and chews his lip, catching a glimpse of the sweaty mess of his face in one of the monitors. He feels Steve’s hand clap and rub his shoulder.
Steve leans in and plants a hand spread wide on Bucky’s chest as the cameras flash. “It’s good, Buck.”
"Well, you heard it here first," Bucky says lamely, feeling Steve sidle up to him, an arm around his shoulders, posing for the cameras.
There’s a shout, “No more questions!” and like that, it’s over and done.
Later, when they’re in the green room, Steve scoots over on his tiny folding chair. “God, Bucky, I’m sorry, I should’ve jumped in. That was my fault.”
Bucky peels off his suit jacket and loosens his tie. “We knew it was gonna come out sooner or later. It was one of the scenarios they trained me in.”
"Trained you for a chance of me opening my big mouth?"
"Yeah, that’s a given." Bucky wipes his face, grimacing. “Is it hot in here? Or is it just me? I’m hot.”
“Yeah, you are,” Steve says with a grin, groaning when Bucky stomps at his foot, catching the edge of his shoe. “Hey, ow!”
The nausea’s gone, and he no longer feels this weird—he doesn’t know what to call it, it’s not dread really. He’d prepared, he followed—no, it wasn’t orders, he has to get used to it now. It’s not orders. He’d done his homework. Better.
“It’s understandable if you were nervous. Do you want to go home?” Steve says, keeping his voice low as he leans in. “I don’t think we have anything else scheduled.”
“I wasn’t nervous,” Bucky spits out, but it’s stubborn and childish, no real malice in it. He scoffs. “I’m just, uh—”
“Sweaty?” Steve leans back. “Do you need a wipe?”
“Shut up,” Bucky mutters. “This is all your fault.”
He feels light fingertips run along his shoulder; Natasha stands nearby, raising an eyebrow. “You two need a breather? I’ll handle Stark if he’s still around.”
“Hell yes,” Bucky says. “Let’s get outta here.”
She points to Bucky, then Steve. “You two, alone. I’ll see you later. Your car’s outside. Don’t stay out late.”
Natasha gives Steve a wave before she slips out, and then it’s just the two of them surrounded by too many mirrors, flowers, water bottles and snacks.
Steve stands up, buttoning his suit jacket. “So we’re more than partners. Does that mean we’re—”
“You get to keep bein’ my fella if you take me somewhere that has some goddamn air conditioning,” Bucky interrupts, rubbing his face and swiping the loose strands of hair back. He lets Steve grab his loose suit jacket as he unties and reties his hair, pulling it neater. “But we’re showering first.”
“I’m your fella,” Steve repeats, grinning dumbly.
Bucky yanks the suit jacket away and pokes Steve in the shoulder. “Shower!”
“Yes, sir,” Steve answers, mock salute as holds the door open.
end