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Steve Rogers felt sick.
Physically, emotionally, every part of him was hot with fever, with rage, with disbelief. Everyone in Bucky’s living room was still, unmoving. Holding their breath. It was 3:30am. They weren’t going to sleep.
Fuck, if Steve would ever find that desire again.
And he thought the ice was cold.
He remembered storming Germany, seeing the Nazis flags, the swastikas, and thinking “how? How could the German people want a leader like this? How could they have chosen him?” Now, seventy-seven years later, he thought the same thing staring at the Television screen.
Staring at Donald Trump’s face.
“Shit,” Sam choked, swallowed, his eyes tearing up. His hands were shaking, “shit.” Bucky reached out, and pulled him against his side.
“He didn’t–this isn’t–” Sam tried again.
“I’ll take him out,” Natasha said, voice hard and eyes stone. “I’ve killed kinder men for less.”
“Me too,” Bucky muttered, robotic hand twitching against Steve’s knee, his shoulders shuddering, and Steve covered Bucky’s metal hand with his.
“Lets go,” Steve said, not taking his eyes from the screen. “I’ll drive us.”
“I never thought I’d hear you openly agree to assassinate the President,” Tony spoke up for the first time in fifteen minutes. He sounded startled, and a little amused.
“He’s not my President,” Steve retorted.
“There’s a protest in the city tomorrow,” Tony said instead, flipping through his phone. He shifted, sunk deeper into the overstuffed cushions of Bucky’s layback chair. It was usually Steve’s favorite spot.
“I’m going,” Sam said, voice muffled in Bucky’s sweater.
“We’ll all go,” Bucky consoled, looking over to where Becca was sitting on the arm of the couch, frozen in place, unblinking. She looked like she was in shock. Steve was glad, suddenly, that Win and Sophie had fallen asleep. They never liked seeing Becca disassociated.
“Becs,” Steve said, and slowly, delayed in her movements, Becca turned her head to look at him. He almost said, “it’s going to be okay.” He didn’t lie. He wouldn’t start now.
“He’s a rapist,” Becca whispered, voice breaking. Natasha straightened from her position on the floor. “He’s racist. He’s homophobic. He’s–he–he won because he’s a man. It’s like…eight years of a black president followed by a woman would have been too much of a threat to white male authority.” Bucky snorted, but there was no mirth behind the sound.
“Say it louder for the bigots in the back,” he said and Becca almost smiled. They fell into a heavy silence, one that was as oppressive as the orange man smirking lopsided on the television screen. Steve broke it.
“I’ve punched Hitler,” he said. Everyone turned to look at him, but his eyes found Bucky’s and held. “Over 200 times.”
“In a stage performance, babe,” Bucky said but Steve continued, undeterred.
“I could easily punch Trump.” Bucky’s eyes flashed with understanding and he opened his mouth to speak but Tony beat him to it.
“You’re fuckin’ insane. Captain America punching the next President of the United States?”
“Not Captain America anymore,” Steve reminded him and Tony stilled before letting out a weary sigh and pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Fuck, sorry, Sam. I keep forgetting because even though Capsicle isn’t technically on the team anymore he still finds his way into the Tower’s kitchens and eats all the chocolate toaster struddles–”
“I’m going to hit him,” Steve interrupted. Sam groaned into Bucky’s Hello Kitty sweater. “I really want to hit him.”
“Lets just go to a protest instead,” Natasha tried, holding up her phone to display New York City’s rally’s petition.
“I can get you in,” Bucky said. Steve’s head snapped to him. Bucky grinned; that sharp, slow smile of his that had Steve’s blood boiling. “I’m very good at getting into places that are supposed to keep people out.”
“Oh no,” Sam said, pulling away from Bucky and looking disbelieving between him and Steve. “You’re both fuckin’ crazy.”
“Whaddya say, babe?” Bucky purred, eyes flashing as he leaned over Sam’s lap. Both him and Steve ignored their friend’s complaints. “Wanna knock out the next President of the United States?”
“I love you,” he sighed and Bucky’s smile brightened despite the deeper sadness still set in his eyes.
“Crazy…” Sam muttered.
///
Tony had always hated Trump Tower.
These were his reasons:
1. Gaudy
2. Blocked out views of Manhattan
3. Ruined the skyline
4. “Was just another multi-millionaire white man trying to assert his dominance”
Steve was still waiting for Tony to find the irony in it.
That being said, Trump’s architectural choices made it easy to find, the raging crowd in the streets below made it easier still, and Bucky stood crouched next to him inside one of the large rooms, taking in the gold trimmed furniture and ornate carpets. There was a celebratory party, election and celebration becoming combined, on the penthouse floor above, and even through the thick floors Steve could still make out the muffled ends of conversation.
“I can’t believe you got us in here,” Bucky whispered under his breath, scrubbing the toe of his ratty boot against the nearest chair leg.
“I used to be Captain America and am a prominent public figure. Plus I’m a white male. We can pretty much do anything, Buck.” Bucky hummed, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he scoped out the corners of the room. He whistled, shooting Steve a look over his shoulder.
“There’s about six cameras in here alone,” he reported, raising a condescending brow.
“It doesn’t surprise me that he’s paranoid,” Steve said, still feeling the anger, fresh and hot, under his skin. He had stood in the crowd below with Bucky, had read the signs, had seen the tears, and had felt the people’s outrage, their looks of betrayal. We did this, Steve thought numbly. America’s done this to itself.
He was finding it exhausting, to try and love a country that didn’t love him back.
Bucky seemed to sense his mind racing and approached, slow, taking Steve’s hand and slowly intertwining their fingers. Just having Bucky here, this close was enough for Steve to feel stable.
“What are we doing here?” Steve groaned, dropping his forehead against his boyfriend’s. “Am I being immature?”
“Maybe,” Bucky answered honestly, swiping his thumb over Steve's knuckles. Steve was about to respond, was about to say “we should go, we’re better than this, you were right, this isn’t worth it” before the large oak doors opened and Donald Trump strode into the room, his entourage trailing behind him, and his face was red, blotched with liquor and entertainment and joy–joy– this man was happy that people would be hurt because of him, would be killed because of him, would be alienated further because of him–
Steve may have been the bigger man but he still punched Donald Trump in the face.
///
“You broke his nose!” Sam screamed, looking at Steve through the bars of the county jail. “You broke Donald Trump’s nose.” Steve couldn’t help his smile.
“It was worth it.” Sam sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. He looked tired. Rightfully so. Immediately, Steve was ashamed. It hit him like a flood, like boiling water.
"I'm sorry," he said. Sam leveled him with a hard look.
"Don't apologize," Sam said gently, even as his tone remained firm. "There's no point for it. Just keep fighting the good fight. It's all any of us can do." Steve looked down at his hands, at the slight reddening of his knuckles.
"I'm kind of disappointed I didn't knock his hair off," Steve admitted quietly. Sam laughed, loud and surprised.
"Next time I'm coming with you. Let me have a shot."
"Sam," Steve said meeting his gaze, "You deserve all the shots in the world."
///
He was released in three days.
Apparently, Donald wanted to make a statement in releasing him without charge. Steve didn’t want to exert the energy to get into the man’s mind. Instead, he curled up beside Bucky on the couch, and watched the news covering the story.
Bucky laughed softly, exasperated, under him.
He pressed a kiss to Steve’s mouth, his tongue swiping across Steve’s lower lip.
“You’re the biggest idiot I’ve ever met,” Bucky admitted and Steve pulled back to look down at him.
“Isn’t that a part of my charm?” Bucky laughed, quiet because the girls were sleeping, and pulled Steve closer, making sure Steve felt every part of him.
“I suppose it is,” Bucky sighed and Steve kissed him again.
///
#keepkissing was trending on Twitter.
Steve took a picture of him and Bucky in their kitchen early that morning, with his five o’clock shadow and morning breath and messed up hair.
Bucky was laughing.
It was the next new trending image for the following three hours.
///
Jenna called him that night.
His publicist didn’t really sound tired anymore, just exasperated.
“You punched Donald Trump in the face,” she said in lei of greeting. Steve swallowed.
“Yes, ma’am, I did,” he admitted.
“You broke the next President of the United States nose,” she continued.
“Yes.” She fell quiet on the other end. She was silent for so long, that Steve had begun to suspect she had hung up. When she spoke next, she sounded amused.
“Did he cry?” she asked. Steve grinned.
“A little.”
“Well,” she said after a pause, “It must’ve been worth it, then.”
///
Win was sitting on Steve’s lap on the front porch.
Bucky was inside making chicken with Sophie, and Win and Steve had retired, after being told that they needed to get out of the way because they were slowing everyone down, in both of their favorite porch chairs. Win was holding her Captain America bear, and she was chewing on its helmet in thought.
“A boy told another boy in my class that he was gonna get deported,” Win said, soft and quiet and a little scared. Steve felt his blood freeze.
“They used to be friends,” Win continued thoughtfully. She looked up at Steve over her shoulder, and Steve tried his best to meet her look without betraying the sadness he felt. “Why? Why do people hate other people?” It was a question Steve wished he knew the answer to.
“Because they’re scared,” Steve said. “They’re scared and small, and have so much hate it’s killin’ em. I don’t know why people are racist, or xenophobic, or any-horrible thing, Win. I don’t know why people hate so immensely. But that’s why it’s important to stand up for those who need it. You have a voice, because of the color of your skin. Use it to make sure that others are heard. You got that?”
Win watched him with large eyes. She nodded.
“You need to remember, that as a woman, this is a very trying time for you in history. I want you to stay safe, and stay strong, and to remember that you are bigger and better than any man tries to be. You can accomplish so much. Please be safe, and please be vigilant. And know that I love you.” Win studied him for a long time, processing his words as each one came. Steve hoped he hadn’t overwhelmed her.
But she reached out and took his hand and held it in hers.
“Time to fight back?” she asked. Steve felt his chest constrict in warmth, in sadness, in determination, in fear. He held her tight.
“Time to fight back,” he agreed.