Chapter Text
AMERICA’S NEW SWEETHEARTS?
The country’s two most infamous bachelors are officially off the market.
Because they’re seeing each other.
That’s right, James “Bucky” Barnes, son of President Elaine Barnes, and Steve Rogers, national icon Captain America, are two halves of America’s hottest new couple. A source close to the pair reveals that “the two of them are so in love they can barely go half an hour without speaking to one another.”
America’s beloved first son came out almost a year ago, and his sexuality has been surprisingly uncontroversial, perhaps because he hasn’t been in a relationship since his mother took office — until now?
President Barnes remains one of the most popular American presidents in recent history, and her son has arguably garnered even more public support than she has. Will that still be the case, with this new relationship in the public light? At the very least, it’s clear that the Barnes family can count support from Cap and his Avengers buddies.
Bucky jerked as the article landed on the placemat in front of him with a smack. “That’s not my eggs,” he said. Then, upon reading the title, continued, “Oh come on, what is this shit? It’s a little early in the morning for gossip rags, don’t you think?”
His mother gave him an unimpressed look. “The rumor mill never sleeps,” she replied, settling into her seat across from him. “Now read it. And watch your language.” She took a prim sip of coffee and smiled at Christian as he wheeled their breakfast in from the kitchens.
Sighing, Bucky picked up the paper and started scanning the article. He got through the second sentence before he dropped it with a scoff. “This is a joke, right?” He took a sip of his own coffee, grimacing at the bitter taste. “This has to be a joke, I’ve never — thanks, Christian — even met Captain America, let alone slept with him.” He took a bite of his scrambled eggs and said, around the mouthful, “And trust me, I’d remember. Have you seen his ass?”
Rebecca entered the room in a wave of floral perfume. “Whose ass?” she asked, sitting between Bucky and their mother. She took a strawberry and popped it into her mouth.
“Captain America’s,” Bucky mumbled around a bite of toast. He tossed the paper toward her. “Apparently I’m fucking a national icon.”
She looked at him over the top of the paper. “Are you fucking a national icon?”
Bucky rolled his eyes. “Hell no. Like I said, I’ve never even met the guy.” He buttered his second slice of toast, looking toward his mother. “And anyway, seems like he’s got a bit of a stick up his ass. All-American goody-two-shoes ain’t really my type.”
His mother quirked an eyebrow at him over the top of her own paper. “That’s a shame, isn’t it?” She smiled. “A bit of do-gooder might do you some good.”
“But haven’t you heard, ma?” He took the paper from Rebecca, brandishing it in her direction. “I’m America’s ‘beloved first son.’ The people love me, when they aren’t too busy hating me.” He threw it down onto an empty space on the table.
Elaine Barnes folded her own paper in half and set it on the table in front of her, an almost tentative look on her face. That’s when Bucky knew he was in trouble. “In all seriousness, James...” She paused, and the look on her face hardened into something more determined. “We need to talk about this.”
Bucky shared a look with Rebecca, before saying, “But ma, I’m not dating him. What’s the big deal?”
Elaine set her forearms on the table, clasping her hands together in what the public had termed her ‘negotiation pose.’ “Now, you know we’re getting set up for my re-election campaign,” she said.
“Right...”
“We’ve been looking at how I stand in the polls.” Bucky stared at her, then glanced at Rebecca. She was avoiding his gaze. “The conservatives think I’m too liberal, and the liberals think I’m too conservative. I think this could help us on both of those fronts.”
Bucky stared at her. He had a feeling he knew where this was going, but he was praying he had misinterpreted her somehow. “...What could help us?”
“You dating Captain America. For real. Or, well—” She waved a hand. “—for publicity.”
“I—what?” Bucky gaped at her. “How is my dating Captain America going to help you?”
“Well, obviously it would be a huge boost on the liberal side. You know there’s been chatter about how we’ve played down your sexuality to appeal to the conservatives. And then, for the conservative side, we’d play up the old-fashioned American values. You know, Captain America’s whole shtick. I think this could be a real bolster for the campaign.”
Bucky grit his teeth. “Okay, so you date him. Why does my sex life have to be a part of your campaign?”
“Bucky,” his mother said in a warning tone. “This would be for PR. It doesn’t have to be real or permanent, but you know the public never looks at just my platforms. They want to see me—to see us—embodying everything I talk about. I’m not saying it’s fair, but that’s life in Washington, sweetheart.” She set her hand over his on the table, giving him a sympathetic smile. “It would only need to be until the election.”
“Which is a year away,” Bucky growled, pulling his hand back. “Do I even have a choice?”
His mother sat back, folding her hands again. “Of course you do, sweetheart,” she said, taking a bite of her oatmeal. “But my team has already contacted the PR team for the Avengers, and they’re discussing it as well. I spoke with Tony Stark personally, and he seemed to think it was an excellent idea.”
Bucky stared down at his plate, his eggs already cold and congealing. After a moment, he picked up his napkin and threw it down on the plate, rising from his seat. “I think I’ve lost my appetite,” he gritted out, turning to leave the dining room.
“Oh, Bucky, don’t—” He slammed the door behind him, cutting off her protestations.
-
There were already 50,000 hits on Google. Thousands of articles, hundreds of images of Bucky and Captain America spliced together. He looked at the “Stucky” hashtag on Twitter and lasted all of two seconds before he closed the window. He wasn’t even going to try Tumblr.
Letting out a frustrated sigh, Bucky tabbed over to one of the articles he’d opened. Every article he’d skimmed seemed pretty much identical to the one he’d read over breakfast. As the morning pressed onward, however, the discussion seemed to be turning toward Bucky’s unsavory lifestyle and what impact Captain America’s influence would have on it. Some had even begun to speculate how the relationship would impact his mother’s campaign.
Bucky scrubbed his hands over his face, letting out an animal noise of pure frustration. He’d spent most of his life in the spotlight, first during his father’s presidency and now his mother’s. The media had always been invasive and condescending. He was used to that. But this was absurd. Not the story—if there was one thing the press was good at, it was printing bullshit like it was the God’s honest truth—but his mother’s desire to go along with it. It was insane.
He dropped his hands back to the desk and stared at the screen. After a moment of hesitation, he clicked over to the images tab on Google. His screen filled with pictures of his own face, of Captain America, and separate shots of them spliced together. Some of the latter images were more obscene than he would have thought possible for mere Photoshop.
He opened one of the tamer images, a simple side-by-side comparison of two shots. One of Captain America at some sort of press event, wearing a slick, modern suit and tie (courtesy of Tony Stark, no doubt) and a sincere, if uncomfortable, smile. It was a good picture. His own photo was less flattering: he had a severe, unsmiling expression on his face, and the lighting emphasized the shadows under his eyes and the greasy sheen to his hair. He remembered that event, though he couldn’t remember the night in its entirety. He’d already been high by the time he’d reached the red carpet, and it had taken all his concentration to get through the press shots without giving himself away.
He turned his attention back to the other man’s photo. God, but he was hot.
Opening a new tab, Bucky started another search: “Steve Rogers.” The resulting images were a mixture of press shots and pictures from the declassified SSR files. He opened one of the press shots, taken at what looked like the political summit the Avengers had attended in the immediate aftermath of the Battle of New York. Captain Rogers was standing at attention in vintage military dress, expression grim and determined. He looked edible.
Bucky closed out of the browser. Snapping his laptop shut with one hand, he scrubbed at his face in frustration. He wasn’t going to fake-date Captain America as part of his mother’s campaign for re-election. It was such an outlandish idea that it was laughable. There was no way he was going to go through with it. Point. Blank. End of story.
-
“I’ll do it.”
Elaine looked at him over the top of her glasses, setting down the file she’d been perusing. “Pardon?”
Bucky made a short noise of irritation. “I said, I’ll do it.” He crossed his arms. “I’ll date Mr. American Pie, all right? As long as he’s on board with it, I’m fine. But only until the election, then it’s over.”
His mother gave him a small smile, taking off her glasses. “Thank you, sweetheart,” she said. “But I don’t want you to feel like this is something you have to do. I was a little... insistent, at breakfast, but the campaign won’t fall apart if you don’t want to do this. It’s only a bolster.”
Bucky shrugged, giving his mother a small, uncomfortable smile. “It’s fine,” he said. “It’ll be good for your campaign and it’s not like anything could really sully my reputation at this point.” He gave a tight laugh. “Hell, it’ll probably improve it. Give me a little incentive to stay out of the tabloids.”
Unbidden, the stories he’d skimmed over the past half-hour popped into his head: that had seemed to be the general sentiment within them. Little Bucky Barnes, America’s favorite First Son, couldn’t keep himself out of the gossip rags with his self-destructive party lifestyle. It’d be good for him to have Captain America looking over him, keeping a leash on him.
His mother fixed him with an unreadable look. “I want you to do what you think is best for you, not what you think I want. What I want is irrelevant, ultimately.”
If only he could really believe that.
Pasting on his press smile, Bucky said, “I know, ma. I think this’ll be good for me.”
His mother didn’t smile, just watched him with discerning eyes. Then she looked back down and slipped her glasses back on. “All right. The number for Mr. Stark’s PA should be on your desk. Why don’t you give him a call and get the details all worked out?”
-
The head of PR for the Avengers was a tall, poised woman named Helen Cho. With her pressed skirt and her hair pulled back into an artful bun at the back of her head, she looked like she’d walked straight off the cover of a fashion magazine. She had a sleek leather binder cradled in one arm, which she shifted to reach forward and shake Bucky’s hand. She had a firm grip. She also had a pleasant smile, which she displayed for a moment before speaking. “Good afternoon, Mr. Barnes. My name is Helen Cho, I’ll be your liaison for this project.”
Bucky flashed her his press smile. “Of course. Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Cho.”
“Call me Helen.” Another brief smile. “Please, follow me.”
Bucky tucked his hands into the pockets of his slacks and fell into step behind her. Helen used a keycard to access one of the tower’s three available elevators. The doors slid open to reveal an all-glass interior set into the face of the building. Bucky stared out at the bustling New York street as Helen used the keycard again, this time to select a floor.
Bucky watched the crowd shrink as they ascended to the tower’s upper-most commercial floors. It was popular knowledge that the top six floors of Stark Tower housed the Avengers. Most of them resided there full-time, with the obvious exception of Thor. More surprising was the fact that Captain America kept a second apartment in D.C. No one was quite sure where he spent most of his time, but he was never out of contact when a call came in for the team.
Bucky was pulled out of his thoughts by a soft ding from the elevator. A voice followed, announcing, “Forty-fourth floor, Ms. Cho,” in a crisp British accent. The glass doors slid open without a sound, and they stepped out into the hall. Her office was one of several doors which branched out from the hall. She held the door open for Bucky and gestured for him to step inside. Like the rest of the building, Helen’s office was decorated in Stark’s usual sleek, modern style. It was a large room, though it appeared larger due to the expansive floor-to-ceiling windows that took up the far wall. Helen’s desk sat in front of them, facing toward the door and putting her back to the view. A pair of massive, uncomfortable-looking armchairs sat between the door and the desk.
“Can I offer you a drink?” she asked, moving around him to set the binder down on her desk. She gestured to the decanter sitting on a nearby bureau.
“Ah, no. Thank you.” Bucky stepped up to the nearest armchair and stood, uncertain of how to proceed.
Helen smiled. “Please, sit,” she said, as she did so herself.
Bucky lowered himself into the chair and folded his hands in his lap. The armchair was just as uncomfortable as it looked.
Helen folded her hands on the desk and smiled. “I have to admit,” she said, after a pause, “I was surprised to hear from you.” She leant back and looked him over. “I saw the article this morning, of course. But it’s pure tabloid fodder. We hadn’t even planned to release a statement in response. So imagine my surprise when I get a call from James Barnes himself, asking for a meeting to discuss it.”
A short, uncomfortable laugh escaped him. “Yes, well...” He trailed off and took the opportunity to clear his throat. “My mother is an ambitious woman. She saw this article as... an opportunity.”
Helen’s eyebrows shot up. “An opportunity?” she prompted, sounding both amused and expectant.
He took a deep breath and reminded himself that he had made the decision to approach her. His mother may have prompted it, but he had been the one to act.
“Yes,” he affirmed. “An opportunity. My mother’s looking to boost her polls numbers on both sides, and I think you can help. I’m not really here to talk politics, but essentially: her gay son shacking up with Captain America, the face of good old-fashioned American patriotism—” He was interrupted by an inelegant snort from Helen, but she waved for him to continue. After a pause, he did. “Right... Well. It’s a liberal picture painted with conservative colors, is what I’m trying to get at. Best of both worlds—or about as close as you can get in American politics. She talks the moderate talk, and... I walk the moderate walk.”
He settled back in the chair when he was done, feeling a bit deflated from Helen’s premature—and not quite encouraging—response. When he glanced up at her again, however, her face was pensive.
“I assumed political influence would be the crux of it,” she admitted, still focused on a point just above and beyond his right shoulder. “And your mother’s reasoning appears sound, to an extent.” A small, absent smile graced her face as she finished, like she was remembering an old joke. She returned her attention to him then, straightening in her chair. “I assume your presence means you’ve given your consent?” she prompted, looking to him for agreement. At his nod, she continued, “Well, in that case, we should be able to get moving on this by this evening.”
“This evening?” Bucky repeated, straightening as she stood. He watched her scoop up her leather binder again, as well as a sleek Starkphone which she began to type on as she strode toward the door. Bucky scrambled to follow her. “Isn’t that a bit—soon?”
Helen threw an amused smile over her shoulder. “All due respect, Mr. Barnes, but if you think any PR team covering Tony Stark ever sleeps, you’re not as smart as I thought you were.”
“Well, yes,” he conceded, following her into the hall, “but I assumed it would take longer to get Captain America on board. It doesn’t—well, it doesn’t seem like something he’d agree to right off the bat.”
They stopped in front of the elevator. “Captain Rogers is on board,” Helen said, swiping her key card.
“You sound very certain,” Bucky said, eyebrows raised.
She looked at him, one of her own elegant eyebrows arched. “I am certain.”
Before Bucky could inquire as to why she was so certain, the elevator doors slid open with a ding to reveal none other than the good Captain himself. He was mid-laugh, a broad smile on his face as he listened to Natasha Romanoff murmur something to him under her breath. Her own smile was already slipping off her face when she and Bucky locked eyes. Captain America had yet to notice them, his attention fixed on his hands and the headphones he was attempting to untangle.
Helen stepped into the elevator. “Ms. Romanoff, Captain Rogers.”
Rogers glanced up then, first at Helen and then at Bucky. His eyes widened and the smile slid off his face as he stood up straight, tucking his hands—and the headphones—into his pockets.
“Helen,” Romanoff said. “And James Barnes. What a surprise.”
Somehow, Bucky didn’t think she was surprised. Her words seemed to shake Rogers out of his perturbed formality, however. He gave Helen a smile, greeting her with a warm, “Afternoon, Helen.” The smile he gave Bucky was smaller and more reserved. “Mr. Barnes.”
Bucky was still adjusting to their sudden presence, and it took him a moment to realize Helen was holding the door open for him with one arm. Feeling himself flush, he hurried onto the elevator. He murmured a sheepish introduction and tucked his hands into his pockets.
They rode in not-quite-comfortable silence for a couple of beats before Natasha spoke. “I assume this is about this morning’s article.”
Bucky felt his flush deepen. He kept his head ducked down, staring at the floor ascending beneath his feet.
Helen made a noise of confirmation. “Mr. Barnes came to discuss it with me in person. Quite gracious of him, really.”
Bucky’s face was on fire. He’d been on national television since he was just a kid during his father’s presidency, but this had to be the most distressing minute of scrutiny he’d ever experienced.
Romanoff was the only one watching him, not bothering to hide her interest in his presence. Rogers and Helen were both staring ahead, although Helen didn’t appear to be quite as uncomfortable as Rogers.
“Very gracious indeed,” Romanoff murmured. From the corner of his eye, Bucky could see a smirk slide onto her face.
Bucky ignored her, concentrating on trying to will down his blush. By the time the calm British voice announced their arrival on the ground floor, Bucky’s complexion was back to normal.
The doors slid open, and Rogers gestured for Helen and Bucky to step out first. Romanoff was inspecting her nails, smirk still in place. Bucky followed Helen out into the lobby, Romanoff and then Rogers trailing just behind them.
At the door, Helen stopped and turned to face Bucky. “Thank you again for coming to meet with me in person, Mr. Barnes,” she said, holding out a hand for him to shake. He took it as she continued. “I’ll look into what we discussed and I’ll get back to you sometime this evening.”
Bucky let go of her hand and nodded. “That sounds fine,” he said. “You have my number.”
Helen smiled. Uncertain, Bucky glanced toward Rogers and Romanoff again. “Well...” He trailed off, one hand coming up to ruffle his hair in a nervous gesture. “It was a pleasure meeting you both.” He winced: years in the White House fishbowl left him in the habit of defaulting to formality when he was uncomfortable.
But Rogers gave him another small smile. “Pleasure meeting you as well,” he said, reaching forward to shake Bucky’s hand.
Romanoff didn’t say anything, instead opting to give him another smirk and a sarcastic, two-fingered salute from her temple.
“Right,” Bucky said after a pause. “Well. Goodbye.” He turned and all but raced back to the private car.
-
Once he was back in D.C., Bucky spent the rest of the evening waiting to hear from Helen. By the time she finally called, it was nearing eight o’clock and Bucky was about ready to tear his hair out.
He couldn’t pinpoint the exact reason he was so nervous. The situation was certainly unorthodox, but Bucky had been party to far stranger things without this level of stress. It didn’t help that whenever he thought about the meeting with Helen, his mind flashed back to the uncomfortable elevator ride and Romanoff’s smirk.
Every time his phone rang, Bucky sprang for it—but it was always Rumlow. Bucky ignored each call, watching the voicemails stack up one by one. After the seventh call, Bucky listened to the most recent message.
Rumlow’s voice was jarring. It brought him right back to that day almost a month ago, the last time he’d seen the other man. Hey man, he said, I’m starting to get pissed off. Why the fuck aren’t you taking my calls? C’mon, there’s a killer party this weekend and it’s totally your scene. A pause. Look man, you got a busy life, I get it—but c’mon, it’s been a month! Even if you can’t come to the party, we should meet up—I’ve got some stuff for you, it’s pretty tight. So hit me back. The message cut off.
Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, clutching the phone in a tight grip. He took a deep breath and forced himself to release his grip on it. It bounced against the couch cushion, unharmed. Bucky dragged his free hand down his face and fished a coin out of his pocket with the other.
He’d gotten the coin at his very first NA meeting, almost a month ago. It was a newcomer chip: no larger than a dollar coin, made of copper and warm from his body heat. The front declared him 24 hours sober, while the back had an inscription of the serenity prayer. It wasn’t his only coin. He had a 30-day coin as well, which he’d gotten at his second NA meeting on his second day out of rehab, but the newcomer chip was different. The symbolism of his first chip was more powerful to him because it meant he’d made it. He’d completed a 28-day stint at rehab, he’d gotten himself clean, and his first stop after leaving the treatment facility had been an NA meeting. It was a tangible reminder that he’d committed himself to getting better.
Bucky closed his hand around the coin, reciting the serenity prayer in his head as he tried to get his pulse back under control. Rumlow had been more than just an enabler: he’d introduced Bucky to coke, and he’d encouraged him to continue using. It had been the driving force behind their friendship—if what they had had could be called a friendship—and hearing Rumlow’s voice now brought everything flooding back to the forefront of Bucky’s mind.
When his phone rang, he almost didn’t hear it. Even when he did, he wasn’t sure he wanted to pick it up. If it was Rumlow, there was no doubt in his mind that he’d pick up the call and agree to meet on the spot. But if it was Helen...
Bucky swallowed again and picked up the phone, keeping a firm grip on his coin. He let out a shaky breath at the sight of Helen’s name and answered the call.
“Helen, hi,” he said, voice a little shaky.
“Good evening,” she said. A brief pause. “Is everything okay? Did I call at a bad time?”
“No,” Bucky said quickly. “No, not at all. Your timing was perfect, actually. I’m glad to hear from you.”
“Excellent.” Her voice was warm. “Well, I’m calling to update you, as promised. I spoke with Captain Rogers earlier and he assured me he’s on board.”
“—Really?”
“Really,” she replied. “Now, as soon as we’ve hung up, I’ll be contacting your mother’s PR team to get the ball rolling on this. They’ll give me a full rundown of your schedule until the election, as well as any essential conditions and legal documentation.”
“All right,” Bucky said.
“Your first public appearance will most likely be sometime in the next week, excluding any supervillain attacks,” Ms. Cho said, a hint of a smile in her voice. “In the meantime, just try to keep a low profile. I’m sure your team will brief you on social media and upcoming appearances.”
Bucky made a noise of agreement.
“Now, is there anything else I can do for you before I go?” she asked.
Bucky thought for a moment. “Well, there is one... thing...” He trailed off, uncertain.
“Yes?” Her voice was expectant, but there was no trace of impatience.
“Is Captain Rogers... comfortable with this?”
There was a beat of silence, like Helen was surprised. “Yes,” she said. “He’s comfortable with it.”
Another pause, this time from Bucky himself. “All right,” he said, feeling the nervous tightness in his chest loosen by a fraction. “Okay. Good.”
“Good,” Helen agreed, a smile in her voice. “Now, if there’s nothing else...”
“No, no,” Bucky said, “that’s all. Thank you for calling so promptly.”
“Of course. I’ll speak with you again soon. Have a good evening, Mr. Barnes.”
“You too. Goodnight.”