Alcestis

The city disappeared behind tinted windows.

Neither of you spoke.

Outside...

Manhattan continued moving as if nothing had happened.

Pedestrians crossed busy intersections.

Taxis honked.

People hurried toward offices, coffee shops and subway stations.

Life went on.

Inside the SUV...

Everything had changed.

The silence stretched between you.

Not uncomfortable.

Just...

Unfamiliar.

The privacy divider separated the driver from the back seat, giving the two of you something neither of you had expected to have today.

Privacy.

For the first time since leaving the Barnes Foundation...

There were no cameras.

No reporters.

No lawyers.

No Sharon.

No Tony.

No Natasha.

Just you.

And James Buchanan Barnes.

You watched the city pass through the window.

Beside you, Bucky loosened his tie before letting out a long breath.

"...Well."

You looked over.

"...Well."

Another silence settled between the two of you.

He rubbed the back of his neck.

"I think we're supposed to talk."

"Probably."

"I've never fake dated anyone before."

Despite yourself...

You smiled.

"That's strangely reassuring."

He glanced at you.

"It is?"

"I'd be concerned if you had experience."

A quiet laugh escaped him.

Small.

Barely noticeable.

But genuine.

It was the first time either of you had laughed since signing the contract.

"So..." Bucky said.

"So."

"I guess this is where we figure out how this works."

You reached into your bag.

He frowned.

"What are you looking for?"

"My notebook."

"You brought your notebook?"

"I'm a journalist."

"I bring it everywhere."

You rested it on your lap before clicking your pen.

Bucky watched with growing suspicion.

"...Should I be worried?"

"Probably."

You flipped to a blank page.

Across the top, you carefully wrote:

Fake Dating Rules

He leaned over just enough to read the title.

"...You're serious."

"Very."

He let out an exaggerated sigh.

"I already miss this morning."

You ignored the comment.

"Rule number one."

He folded his arms.

"I'm listening."

"No kissing."

His answer came immediately.

"Agreed."

You looked up, surprised.

"That was easy."

"I wasn't planning on kissing you."

"Good."

"I wasn't planning on kissing you either."

You wrote the first line.

1. No kissing.

"My turn."

You nodded.

"No lying."

You looked up from the notebook.

"...We're literally pretending to date."

"You know what I mean."

You did.

"No lying to each other."

"If something bothers us..."

"We say it."

No pretending.

No guessing.

No letting things build up.

You held his gaze for a moment before nodding.

"I can do that."

You added the second rule.

2. No lying to each other.

He thought for another second.

"And..."

"No surprise visits."

You smiled.

"I wasn't planning on showing up at your apartment."

"I wasn't talking about you."

"You weren't?"

He shook his head.

"I was thinking about the media."

"If one of us has to make a public appearance..."

"The other should know first."

"...Fair."

You wrote again.

3. No surprise visits.

The scratching of your pen filled the silence.

For the first time...

The conversation almost felt normal.

Almost.

──────────── ✦ ────────────

The SUV slowed to a stop.

Bucky frowned.

"We're here already?"

The driver's voice came through the intercom.

"Not quite, Mr. Barnes."

"We're picking up two more passengers."

Before either of you had the chance to ask who...

The rear door opened.

Sam Wilson climbed in first.

Steve Rogers followed close behind.

Sam looked from you...

To Bucky...

Then to the notebook resting on your lap.

"...Are we interrupting something?"

"No."

You and Bucky answered at exactly the same time.

Sam grinned.

"Ouch."

"This fake dating thing is already looking pretty convincing."

Steve sighed as he settled into the seat beside him.

"Ignore him."

"I usually do," Bucky replied.

Sam's eyes drifted back to the notebook.

"What's that?"

"Nothing," you answered a little too quickly.

"It looked like a list."

"It isn't."

Bucky glanced at you.

"...It's a list."

You slowly turned your head toward him.

"Traitor."

He shrugged.

"I panic under pressure."

Sam laughed.

"I knew it."

Steve smiled to himself.

"You smiled."

Bucky frowned.

"What?"

"You smiled."

"No, I didn't."

"You did."

Sam pointed dramatically.

"He absolutely smiled."

You looked between the three men.

"...Are they always like this?"

Bucky answered without thinking.

"You get used to it."

The words slipped out so naturally that the car suddenly became very quiet.

Bucky blinked.

Then cleared his throat.

"I mean..."

"...while this arrangement lasts."

You lowered your eyes, pretending to study the notebook.

Mostly to hide the tiny smile threatening to appear.

Sam noticed.

Of course he noticed.

His grin widened.

Steve noticed too.

Neither of them said a word.

Instead, Steve leaned back in his seat.

"I've never seen you this nervous."

Bucky looked out the window.

"I'm not nervous."

Sam laughed.

"Right."

"And I'm Captain America."

Steve raised an eyebrow.

"I thought I was Captain America."

Sam waved a dismissive hand.

"You know what I mean."

Bucky let out a tired sigh.

"I liked you both better five minutes ago."

"That's impossible," Sam replied.

"You've known us for years."

"I know."

"And somehow you still get worse."

Sam placed a hand over his heart.

"That almost hurt my feelings."

"Almost?"

"I remembered you signed a fake dating contract this morning."

He smiled.

"My day's going great."

Bucky groaned.

"This is going to be a long ride."

──────────── ✦ ────────────

Sam was the first to break the silence.

"So..."

He looked between the two of you.

"What's your story?"

You frowned.

"Our story?"

"You know..."

He gestured between you and Bucky.

"The story you're about to tell the entire country."

You and Bucky exchanged a glance.

"...We don't have one," he admitted.

Sam's grin disappeared.

"You don't have one?"

"We signed the contract less than an hour ago," you said.

"There wasn't exactly time."

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Please tell me you've at least decided how you met."

Silence.

Sam looked at Steve.

Steve looked back at Sam.

Then they both turned toward you and Bucky.

"You've got to be kidding me."

Bucky sighed.

"We were a little busy negotiating the whole fake relationship."

Steve nodded slowly.

"I understand."

"But the media won't."

"If one reporter asks how long you've been together..."

"You both need the same answer."

Sam leaned forward, counting on his fingers.

"Favorite food."

"Favorite coffee order."

"Favorite movie."

"Birthday."

"Favorite flower."

"First date."

"Who asked who out."

"Anniversary."

"Biggest fear."

"Favorite season."

"Dream vacation."

He pointed toward your notebook.

"You'd better start writing."

Without a word, you flipped to another blank page.

The sound of the paper turning made Bucky close his eyes.

"...Another list?"

You clicked your pen.

"Another list."

Across the top of the page, you carefully wrote:

Things We Need to Know About Each Other

Sam smiled proudly.

"Now we're getting somewhere."

Steve nodded.

"The more natural your answers are..."

"...the more believable you'll be."

You underlined the title before looking up.

"Alright."

"Let's start easy."

Your eyes met Bucky's.

"Favorite food?"

He stared back for a second.

Then smiled with quiet resignation.

"...This is going to be a long drive."

Outside...

Manhattan carried on as usual.

Inside the SUV...

Pretending to be in love suddenly seemed like the easiest part.

First...

You had to stop being strangers.

──────────── ✦ ────────────

The room remained silent.

No one reached for the folder.

No one spoke.

Sharon let the silence settle.

She'd expected resistance.

She just hadn't expected both of you to reject the proposal at exactly the same time.

"Absolutely not."

Bucky leaned back in his chair.

"I'm glad we agree on something."

"So am I."

You looked at Sharon.

"There has to be another option."

"There isn't."

"There always is."

Sharon calmly folded her hands.

"Not one that solves the problem."

Bucky shook his head.

"We issue another statement."

"We tell people the truth."

"We move on."

Steve finally spoke.

"We already tried that."

Bucky looked toward him.

"And?"

Steve sighed.

"It didn't work."

Sam unlocked his phone.

"You wanna know what happened after your last statement?"

He held up the screen.

"'Barnes Denies Relationship.'"

Another swipe.

"'Fans Think He's Hiding Something.'"

Another.

"'Relationship Rumors Continue Despite Statement.'"

Sam shrugged.

"The internet decided your denial was confirmation."

Bucky rubbed his temples.

"Fantastic."

Tony leaned forward.

"The Foundation isn't the only one dealing with this."

You frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"Parker Media has spent the last twenty-four hours answering calls from sponsors, advertisers and every major publication in New York."

Natasha nodded.

"And every time we refuse to comment..."

"...the story gets bigger."

You looked between them.

"So we're both trapped."

"Exactly."

──────────── ✦ ────────────

Sharon opened another folder.

"This is where our interests align."

She slid several documents toward Tony.

"The Barnes Foundation is prepared to offer Parker Media something we've never offered another publication."

You frowned.

"What?"

Tony remained silent.

Almost as if he wanted Sharon to say it herself.

She did.

"Exclusive access."

Silence.

"Exclusive interviews."

"Behind-the-scenes coverage."

"Charity events."

"Scholarship ceremonies."

"The Miss Congeniality competition."

"Our fundraising galas."

"Our annual reports."

She looked directly at you.

"For the duration of this agreement..."

"Parker Media becomes the Foundation's primary media partner."

Your eyes widened.

Tony smiled.

"You have any idea how long we've been trying to get that?"

You slowly shook your head.

"Years."

"They've turned us down every single time."

Natasha added,

"No other publication gets that kind of access."

Your journalist instincts immediately began connecting the dots.

Exclusive stories.

Exclusive interviews.

Months of material.

No competition.

Bucky noticed your expression.

He sighed.

"I don't like that look."

You glanced at him.

"What look?"

"The reporter look."

"You've stopped thinking about me."

He gestured toward the folder.

"And started thinking about the story."

"...Maybe."

Sam grinned.

"I knew it."

Steve elbowed him.

"Ow."

Tony smiled.

"There she is."

"The journalist."

──────────── ✦ ────────────

Sharon turned toward Bucky.

"And you're not the only one making a sacrifice."

She placed another stack of papers in front of him.

Business reports.

Sponsor letters.

Board meeting summaries.

Bucky frowned.

"...What's this?"

"Everything we've received since yesterday."

He picked up the first page.

"'Sponsors Express Concern Over Foundation Leadership.'"

Another.

"'Board Requests Emergency Meeting.'"

His jaw tightened.

"...Internal review?"

Steve nodded quietly.

"They met this morning."

"You didn't tell me."

"There wasn't time."

Sharon spoke before either man could continue.

"The Foundation depends on public trust."

"You are the face of that Foundation."

"When your reputation is questioned..."

"So is ours."

Bucky remained silent.

She continued.

"If this continues..."

"The Board will begin questioning your ability to lead."

The room fell quiet.

For the first time...

Bucky didn't argue.

He simply stared at the reports.

Tony finally broke the silence.

"So Parker Media gets the biggest exclusive we've ever had."

He looked at Bucky.

"And you protect the Foundation before the story becomes something it isn't."

Natasha added softly,

"This isn't about pretending to be in love."

"It's about controlling the narrative before someone else controls it for you."

──────────── ✦ ────────────

Bucky looked up.

"So..."

"You want us to fake a relationship."

Sharon nodded once.

"Yes."

He laughed.

A short.

Disbelieving laugh.

"No."

You crossed your arms.

"I'm with him."

Tony sighed.

"As expected."

"You can't be serious."

"I am."

"It would only be temporary."

"It protects both organizations."

"It gives the media exactly what they're looking for."

"So they'll stop looking."

You stared at her.

"They'll never stop."

"They will."

Sharon answered calmly.

"They'll simply move on to the next story."

Sam nodded.

"Unfortunately..."

"She's right."

Steve folded his arms.

"This won't last forever."

"It only has to last long enough."

Bucky looked around the room.

"I still vote no."

"So do I."

You answered immediately.

Both of you spoke together.

"Absolutely not."

Sam looked toward Natasha.

"They're getting better at talking in sync."

Neither of you acknowledged him.

──────────── ✦ ────────────

Sharon closed the folder.

"I expected that answer."

She stood.

Walking toward the floor-to-ceiling windows.

The rest of you instinctively followed.

Down below...

Dozens of photographers waited behind the security barriers.

Camera lenses pointed toward the building.

News vans lined the curb.

Some reporters were already broadcasting live.

You felt your stomach sink.

"There are more than yesterday."

"There are."

Sharon looked back at the room.

"They've been waiting here since dawn."

"They know this meeting is happening."

Tony frowned.

"How?"

"They always know."

Another silence.

Then Sharon spoke the sentence no one wanted to hear.

"When this meeting ends..."

"...they'll be waiting for both of you."

You looked at Bucky.

He looked back at you.

Neither of you liked where this was going.

Sharon smiled politely.

"I'm afraid your relationship..."

"...starts today."

"What?"

Both of you spoke at the same time.

"The photographers cannot see you leaving separately."

Bucky blinked.

"Sharon."

"They'll assume the meeting failed."

"And?"

"And tomorrow's headlines will be worse."

You frowned.

"So what exactly are you suggesting?"

She didn't hesitate.

"You leave together."

Silence.

"You get into the same car."

"You let them take their pictures."

"And from this moment forward..."

"...the story belongs to us."

Bucky stared at her.

"You've planned all of this."

"For the last eighteen hours."

He looked toward Steve.

"You knew?"

Steve sighed.

"I knew there was a plan."

"I didn't know it involved..."

He gestured vaguely between the two of you.

"...this."

Sam folded his arms.

"I told you this meeting wasn't going to be boring."

No one laughed.

Sharon picked up the folder once more.

"You don't have to sign anything today."

She placed it in the center of the table.

"Take it."

"Read it."

"Think about it."

She looked at you.

Then at Bucky.

"But when you walk out those doors..."

"You'll be walking out together."

The room fell silent.

Neither of you reached for the folder.

Neither of you agreed.

But neither of you stood up to leave.

And somehow...

That was answer enough.

──────────── ✦ ────────────

TAGS:@jades-reads @greatenthusiasttidalwave

You hadn't slept much.

Not because of the meeting.

At least...

That wasn't what you kept telling yourself.

It was the headlines.

The comments.

The photographs.

Every time you closed your eyes, you saw another notification.

Another article.

Another stranger convinced they knew your life better than you did.

By seven o'clock...

You gave up trying to sleep.

Coffee helped.

Barely.

You stood in front of your apartment window, mug warming your hands as Manhattan slowly came to life below.

Somewhere out there...

James Buchanan Barnes was probably getting ready for the exact same meeting.

The thought made you sigh.

Yesterday had already been exhausting.

Today promised to be worse.

Your phone buzzed against the kitchen counter.

TONY STARK

Tony: Car will be outside in forty-five minutes.

Tony: Don't let the paparazzi see you leave.

You stared at the second message.

A month ago...

That sentence would've sounded ridiculous.

Now...

It was your reality.

You typed a quick reply.

You: Understood.

A second later...

Another message appeared.

Tony: And eat breakfast.

Tony: You'll think better on a full stomach.

Despite everything...

You smiled.

Just a little.

──────────── ✦ ────────────

Across the city...

Bucky Barnes was having a very different morning.

Alpine stretched lazily across the foot of the bed, completely unaware that every entertainment outlet in New York seemed determined to discuss her owner's nonexistent love life.

Bucky adjusted the cuffs of his shirt before glancing at the newspaper someone had slipped beneath his apartment door.

He didn't even have to unfold it.

There it was.

Another photograph.

Another headline.

He let out a quiet groan.

"Seriously?"

Alpine blinked.

"I know."

His phone buzzed.

SHARON CARTER

Sharon: Driver will be downstairs at 8:30.

Another message followed.

Sharon: Please try not to speak to the press before the meeting.

He smiled despite himself.

Bucky: Wasn't planning on it.

Three dots appeared almost immediately.

Sharon: Good.

Sharon: I'd like to keep today's crisis limited to one.

Bucky laughed softly.

For the first time since this entire mess had started.

Then his smile faded.

In less than an hour...

He'd be sitting across from the journalist who somehow knew how to ask every question he didn't want to answer.

He had no idea what this meeting was about.

Only that it involved both of you.

And somehow...

That made him more nervous than facing a room full of reporters.

──────────── ✦ ────────────

The Barnes Foundation headquarters was quieter than you expected.

No reporters.

No cameras.

Just polished marble floors and employees moving calmly through the lobby.

An assistant escorted you, Tony, and Natasha to a conference room overlooking Manhattan.

"We'll be with you shortly."

The door closed behind her.

Silence settled over the room.

Tony helped himself to a cup of coffee.

"I already like this place."

Natasha rolled her eyes.

You remained standing near the window, absently flipping through your notebook.

Not because you planned to use it.

It simply gave your hands something to do.

Voices echoed from the hallway.

Footsteps.

The door opened.

Steve Rogers walked in first.

Tony greeted him with a handshake.

A second later, Sam Wilson appeared.

He looked at you.

Then toward the still-open doorway.

"So..."

He smiled.

"You're the journalist."

"And you're Sam Wilson."

"The one who owes somebody fifty bucks."

Sam's jaw dropped.

Steve looked away, hiding a smile.

"...Barnes told you?"

"No."

"I guessed."

That earned a laugh from everyone.

Everyone...

Except the man who walked in next.

Bucky stopped just inside the room.

His eyes met yours immediately.

For a second...

Neither of you spoke.

"You."

The word escaped both of you at exactly the same time.

Sam looked between the two of you.

"Well..."

"This should be fun."

Bucky sighed before taking the seat directly across from you.

Of course.

Out of an entire conference room...

You ended up facing each other.

Again.

The last person to enter was Sharon Carter.

She carried a thin black folder under one arm.

Professional.

Confident.

Completely unfazed by the tension filling the room.

"Good morning."

She remained standing.

"Thank you all for coming."

She placed the folder on the table and opened it.

Inside were printed articles.

Social media posts.

Television ratings.

Photographs.

"The last twenty-four hours have been... eventful."

No one argued.

"Our legal team has reviewed every available option."

She looked around the room.

"We considered ignoring the story."

A page turned.

"It grew."

"We considered denying the story."

Another page.

"It grew even more."

She met Tony's eyes.

"Both Parker Media and the Barnes Foundation are now being contacted by sponsors, advertisers, and other media outlets asking for comments."

Tony nodded once.

"They're right."

Sharon closed the folder.

"So."

"That leaves us with one remaining option."

You leaned forward.

"What option?"

She looked directly at you.

Then at Bucky.

"We stop fighting the story."

Silence.

Bucky frowned.

"...Meaning?"

"We confirm it."

The room froze.

"I'm sorry..."

You blinked.

"What?"

Sharon remained perfectly calm.

"The public already believes you're together."

"So..."

"We let them."

Bucky actually laughed.

A short, disbelieving laugh.

"No."

Sharon didn't react.

"We announce that the relationship is real."

"No."

He repeated more firmly.

"Absolutely not."

You looked at him.

Then back at Sharon.

"I'm with him."

Tony rubbed his temples.

"As expected."

"You can't be serious."

"I am."

Sharon folded her hands.

"It would only be temporary."

"It would protect both organizations."

"It would allow the media cycle to move on naturally."

You stared at her.

"You want us..."

"...to pretend to date?"

"Correct."

Bucky leaned back in his chair.

"I've heard terrible ideas before."

"This one just became my favorite."

Sam bit the inside of his cheek, clearly trying not to laugh.

Steve elbowed him.

Hard.

"Ow."

Sharon ignored them.

"I understand this isn't what either of you wants."

"No kidding."

Bucky muttered.

She continued anyway.

"If either of you has a better solution..."

She gently pushed the folder toward the center of the table.

"I'm happy to hear it."

Silence.

No one spoke.

Because no one had one.

You looked at Tony.

He avoided your eyes.

Natasha remained unusually quiet.

Even Steve looked unconvinced.

Finally...

You and Bucky spoke at exactly the same time.

"Absolutely not."

Another heavy silence filled the room.

Sharon exchanged a look with Tony.

Then calmly said,

"I was expecting that answer."

She opened the folder one last time.

"Which is exactly why..."

"...I'd like you to see what happens if you say no."

──────────── ✦ ────────────

New York never really slept.

It simply changed shifts.

Morning commuters filled the sidewalks.

Coffee shops were overflowing.

Taxi horns echoed through Manhattan while people hurried from one meeting to the next.

You adjusted the strap of your bag as you crossed the street toward Parker Media.

Yesterday had been...

Unexpected.

You'd gone to the Miss Congeniality competition expecting another frustrating interview.

Instead...

You'd spent almost twenty minutes talking to James Buchanan Barnes.

Not interviewing him.

Talking.

You frowned.

That wasn't supposed to happen.

He'd avoided every important question.

Refused to give a straight answer.

Smiled every single time he'd managed to change the subject.

And somehow...

You'd laughed.

Twice.

You shook your head.

No.

He was still your story.

Nothing had changed.

You still intended to find out why the Barnes Foundation cared so much about the competition.

And James Buchanan Barnes wasn't going to distract you.

Not with charm.

Not with jokes.

And definitely not with that stupid smile.

──────────── ✦ ────────────

The elevator doors opened onto the third floor.

Immediately...

Something felt different.

The newsroom wasn't quiet.

Phones still rang.

Keyboards clicked.

Editors called across the room.

But conversations stopped the moment you stepped out of the elevator.

A few reporters looked up.

Someone whispered.

Another person glanced down at their phone before looking back at you.

Your eyebrows knitted together.

That was...

Strange.

You reached your desk.

"There you are."

Peter appeared almost instantly, camera bag hanging from one shoulder.

He looked relieved.

Far too relieved.

"You've been looking for me?"

"Since eight."

"It's eight-fifteen."

"I know."

"...Why?"

Peter looked around the newsroom before lowering his voice.

"You haven't checked your phone, have you?"

You pulled it from your pocket.

Black screen.

"...Dead."

"You seriously haven't seen anything?"

"No."

"I forgot to charge it."

Peter opened his mouth.

Closed it again.

"Okay..."

"What?"

"You should probably—"

"There you are."

Tony Stark's voice cut across the newsroom.

He stood outside his office, tablet tucked beneath one arm.

"My office."

His tone wasn't angry.

Which somehow worried you more.

You looked back at Peter.

"...Should I be concerned?"

Peter offered a sympathetic smile.

"I honestly don't know."

──────────── ✦ ────────────

You knocked lightly before stepping inside.

"You wanted to see me?"

"I did."

Tony looked up from the papers covering his desk.

He wasn't alone.

A woman sat comfortably near the window, one leg crossed over the other as she flipped through a folder.

She looked up briefly.

Calm.

Observant.

Confident.

Tony gestured toward the empty chair.

"Come in."

You closed the door behind you.

Silence settled over the room.

Long enough to become uncomfortable.

You shifted slightly.

"...Am I interrupting something?"

The woman smiled politely.

"Not anymore."

Tony leaned back in his chair.

"How was yesterday?"

"The event?"

"Mhm."

"It went well."

"Just well?"

"I think so."

The woman closed the folder.

"You don't sound convinced."

You looked toward her.

"I wasn't expecting to defend my assignment before nine in the morning."

A small smile appeared.

"Fair."

Tony folded his hands.

"Walk me through yesterday."

"The whole day?"

"The important parts."

You nodded.

"I interviewed contestants."

"Mhm."

"Sponsors."

"The judges."

"And?"

"I spoke with James Barnes."

The woman spoke for the first time since introducing herself.

"For how long?"

"I'm not sure."

"Approximately."

"...Fifteen minutes."

Tony glanced toward her.

She looked back at him.

Neither of them reacted.

Which somehow made everything worse.

"...Did something happen?"

Tony sighed.

"That's what we're trying to figure out."

He noticed your confused expression.

"Oh."

"I should introduce you."

He gestured toward the woman.

"This is Natasha Romanoff."

She stood and offered her hand.

"Managing Editor."

You shook it.

"It's nice to meet you."

"You too."

Tony reached for the tablet resting beside him.

"I think it's easier if we show you."

He unlocked the screen.

Turned it around.

Your eyes immediately landed on the photograph.

You.

And Bucky.

Walking through the ballroom.

Both laughing.

You swiped.

Another picture.

Then another.

Then another.

Six photographs.

Each somehow looked more intimate than the last.

"What..."

You whispered.

"What is this?"

Your eyes dropped to the headline.

Billionaire James Buchanan Barnes Spotted Cozying Up To Mystery Woman During Charity Gala

Below it—

Could New York's Most Eligible Bachelor Finally Be Off The Market?

Your stomach dropped.

"No."

You shook your head.

"No, that's not—"

"We know."

Natasha spoke gently.

"But the internet doesn't."

You kept scrolling.

Another article.

Another publication.

Another headline.

Every outlet seemed to have copied the story.

Comments flooded beneath every post.

"Who is she?"

"She's gorgeous."

"I knew Bucky was seeing someone."

"Isn't she a journalist?"

Your pulse quickened.

"This is insane."

Tony nodded.

"Welcome to celebrity journalism."

"I talked to him."

"We know."

"In front of hundreds of people."

"We know."

"I was interviewing him."

Natasha leaned forward slightly.

"The problem isn't what happened."

"It's what the photographs suggest happened."

You stared at the screen.

"I didn't..."

Your voice softened.

"I didn't do anything wrong."

Tony's expression immediately softened.

"No."

"You didn't."

"But perception moves a lot faster than facts."

Silence settled over the room.

You slowly placed the tablet back on the desk.

"What happens now?"

Tony looked toward Natasha.

She answered.

"For now..."

"You go back to work."

You blinked.

"...That's it?"

"We monitor the story."

"We contact legal."

"And we wait."

"For what?"

"To see how big this becomes."

You weren't sure you liked that answer.

Not one bit.

──────────── ✦ ────────────

Almost forty minutes later...

Sunlight poured into Bucky's apartment.

Alpine stretched lazily across the kitchen island as Bucky poured himself another cup of coffee.

"Morning."

The cat blinked.

"I'll take that as a good morning."

His phone vibrated.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

He ignored it.

Another vibration.

Alpine looked toward the counter.

"I know."

Bucky laughed.

"It's rude."

The phone buzzed again.

And again.

"...Alright."

He walked over.

The screen was overflowing with notifications.

SAM (19)

STEVE (7)

PUBLICIST (11)

ASSISTANT (14)

His eyebrows rose.

"What happened?"

He opened Sam's messages.

Morning, Romeo.

Another.

Didn't know you had a girlfriend.

Another.

She's definitely too good for you.

Bucky sighed.

"What is he talking about?"

Steve's messages were next.

Call me.

Don't speak to reporters.

Seriously. Call me.

His stomach tightened.

Before he could reply...

His phone rang.

Natasha.

He answered immediately.

"Morning."

"Did I wake you?"

"No."

"Good."

He leaned against the kitchen counter.

"What happened?"

"How much of your phone have you checked?"

"Not much."

"Perfect."

"Perfect?"

"I'd rather explain before you start reading."

Something about her tone made him straighten.

"Nat."

"You remember the journalist from yesterday?"

"The one asking impossible questions?"

"Yes."

"What about her?"

"You spent some time together."

"We had a conversation."

"I know."

"So?"

A pause.

Long enough to make him uneasy.

"Open the article your publicist sent."

He found the link.

Tapped it.

The first photograph filled the screen.

He frowned.

The second.

The third.

By the fourth...

He already knew where this was going.

His eyes reached the headline.

"...You've got to be kidding me."

"I wish I was."

He kept scrolling.

Every major entertainment outlet had picked it up.

Every single one.

"They think..."

"They think you're dating."

Bucky let out a disbelieving laugh.

"We talked."

"I know."

"There were cameras everywhere."

"I know."

"There were hundreds of people."

"I know."

He looked at the photographs again.

Annoyingly...

He understood.

Taken from that angle...

It looked personal.

It looked real.

"What happens now?"

"For now..."

"We do nothing."

He frowned.

"Nothing?"

"We wait."

"We monitor the coverage."

"And?"

"If it dies today..."

"We're lucky."

"And if it doesn't?"

Natasha was quiet.

Long enough for him to know he wasn't going to like the answer.

"Then..."

"We'll need another plan."

Bucky looked back at the photograph.

One conversation.

One photographer.

One headline.

Somehow...

That had become the biggest story in New York.

He sighed.

"I have a feeling..."

"...this isn't the last time I'm going to hear about her."

"No."

Natasha replied.

"It definitely isn't."

And somewhere across the city...

Neither of you knew it yet.

But before the day was over...

You were both going to be sitting in the same room again.

──────────── ✦ ────────────

Bucky looked back at the article.

One conversation.

One photographer.

One headline.

Somehow...

That had become the biggest story in New York.

His phone rang again.

Unknown Number.

He answered.

"Barnes."

"Good morning, Mr. Barnes."

The woman's voice was composed.

Professional.

"My name is Sharon Carter."

"I'm the Barnes Foundation's Director of Public Relations."

Bucky leaned against the kitchen counter.

"Please tell me this isn't about the articles."

"I'm afraid it is."

He sighed.

"I've already spoken to Natasha."

"So have I."

There was no hesitation in Sharon's voice.

"The story is spreading faster than we anticipated."

"I figured."

"We're handling the media for now."

"And the sponsors?"

"They've started asking questions."

He closed his eyes.

"Of course they have."

"For the moment, we've asked everyone to refrain from making any public statements."

"Not that I was planning to."

"I'm glad to hear that."

Silence settled between them.

Finally, Bucky asked,

"So what happens now?"

"We're arranging a meeting."

He frowned.

"A meeting?"

"Tomorrow morning."

"With who?"

"Your team."

"The journalist."

"And her editors."

Bucky straightened.

"...Tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"We'd like everyone in the same room before anyone says something to the press."

He considered that for a moment.

"So we're just..."

"...waiting?"

"For today, yes."

"The less attention we draw to the story, the better."

He wasn't convinced.

But it made sense.

"I'll be there."

"I'll have the details sent to your assistant."

Another brief pause.

"And Mr. Barnes?"

"Yes?"

"Try to stay out of the headlines for the rest of the day."

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"I'll do my best."

"I appreciate it."

The call ended.

Bucky set his phone on the counter.

Alpine brushed against his leg, demanding attention as though the world hadn't just decided he had a girlfriend.

He scratched behind her ears.

"Tomorrow, huh?"

Alpine purred.

He only hoped...

Tomorrow would come with answers.

──────────── ✦ ────────────

Thanks so much for reading! 🤍 I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments, and don't forget to let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist!

The following morning, James Buchanan Barnes was still occupying far more space in your notebook than you'd intended.

Not because of who he was.

But because of what he hadn't said.

──────────── ✦ ────────────

The newsroom was already buzzing by the time you arrived.

Phones rang.

Printers hummed.

Conversations overlapped from every corner of the room.

Coffee in one hand.

Notebooks in the other.

It was exactly the kind of chaos you'd imagined when you dreamed of becoming a journalist.

You smiled to yourself.

This.

This was where you belonged.

You had barely reached your desk when a familiar voice called your name.

"Morning."

You looked up.

Tony Stark stood outside his office, a coffee mug in one hand and a tablet in the other.

"Got a minute?"

You nodded.

"Always."

He gestured for you to follow him.

As you stepped into his office, Tony placed the tablet on his desk.

"So..."

A knowing smile crossed his face.

"How'd your first day at Miss Congeniality go?"

You considered the question for a moment.

"I asked one question."

Tony raised an eyebrow.

"And?"

A small sigh escaped you.

"I think Mr. Barnes hates me."

Tony laughed.

"That's one way to make a first impression."

You frowned.

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

He leaned back in his chair.

"You got his attention."

"I'm not sure that's a good thing."

Tony took a sip of his coffee.

"It's a journalist's job to get people's attention."

"Preferably not by annoying billionaires."

A grin spread across his face.

"I don't know."

He shrugged.

"Sometimes that's exactly the job."

You couldn't argue with that.

"You read my article?"

"I did."

"And?"

Tony nodded approvingly.

"You stuck to the facts."

"I wasn't supposed to do anything else."

"Exactly."

He smiled.

"You'd be surprised how many people forget that."

Your shoulders relaxed slightly.

"So..."

"I'm not in trouble?"

Tony looked genuinely confused.

"Were you expecting to be?"

"You called me into your office."

"I call people into my office all the time."

"Usually because they've done something wrong."

He laughed.

"I called you in because I have another assignment."

You immediately frowned.

"I don't."

"You do."

Tony reached into a folder and slid another press pass across the desk.

"The competition runs all weekend."

Your eyes dropped to the badge.

Then back to him.

"No."

Tony blinked.

"No?"

"I already interviewed Barnes."

"Barely."

"I have enough for another article."

Tony folded his arms.

"You also have unfinished questions."

"I'll figure those out another way."

"You mean by spending another night reading financial reports?"

You didn't answer.

He smiled.

"I need someone there."

"I'm sure another reporter would love to spend the weekend covering beauty pageants."

"They would."

He nodded.

"They just wouldn't ask the questions you do."

You sighed.

"I don't think Mr. Barnes is particularly excited to see me again."

Tony's smile only widened.

"I don't think that's true."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

Before you could argue again, a knock sounded against the open office door.

"Mr. Stark?"

You both looked up.

Peter Parker stood in the doorway, a camera bag hanging from one shoulder.

"You wanted to see me?"

Tony snapped his fingers.

"Perfect timing."

Peter stepped inside.

"You two are going together."

Peter looked at you.

Then at Tony.

"...We are?"

Tony nodded.

"You'll cover the event."

He pointed at you.

"You'll take the photographs."

Then he pointed at Peter.

"And together..."

A satisfied smile spread across his face.

"...you'll make a great team."

You and Peter exchanged a look.

Neither of you looked convinced.

"I'm still not going."

Tony leaned forward on his desk.

"That's unfortunate."

"Why?"

"Because I already told the organizers you'd be there."

Your eyes widened.

"You what?"

Tony simply smiled.

"You should probably get going."

Peter adjusted the strap of his camera bag.

"I'll... wait outside."

He disappeared before either of you could stop him.

You looked back at Tony.

"This feels like a trap."

"It probably is."

"And you're admitting it?"

"I'm your editor."

He picked up his coffee again.

"It's practically in the job description."

──────────── ✦ ────────────

Peter was waiting outside the office exactly where he'd said he would.

The second he saw you, he offered an awkward smile.

"So..."

He rubbed the back of his neck.

"I guess we're partners."

You sighed.

"I guess we are."

He adjusted the camera bag on his shoulder.

"For what it's worth..."

"I didn't know Mr. Stark was going to volunteer me either."

A laugh escaped you.

"That actually does make me feel a little better."

His smile widened.

"I've learned it's easier not to argue with him."

"You say that like you've tried."

"Oh."

He nodded enthusiastically.

"I've definitely tried."

"And?"

"It never works."

You laughed again.

Peter grinned to himself.

Mission accomplished.

"So..."

He pressed the elevator button.

"What's Barnes actually like?"

You thought about it.

The perfectly tailored suit.

The practiced smile.

The answers that somehow never answered anything.

"Complicated."

Peter blinked.

"That's... not what I expected."

"What were you expecting?"

"I don't know."

He shrugged.

"A billionaire."

"And?"

"And that's usually enough to describe someone."

The elevator doors slid open.

You stepped inside.

"I'm starting to think it isn't."

Neither of you noticed the small smile that crossed Peter's face.

He had a feeling this assignment was about to become a lot more interesting.

──────────── ✦ ────────────

The Grand Regency Hotel looked even busier than it had the day before.

Luxury cars lined the entrance.

Contestants hurried through the revolving doors.

Staff members rushed between ballrooms carrying clipboards and garment bags.

The second day of the competition was officially underway.

Peter stared up at the hotel.

"...This place is huge."

"It is."

He adjusted the camera hanging around his neck.

"So..."

He glanced at you.

"What's the plan?"

You looked down at your notebook.

"We split up."

Peter nodded.

"You handle the contestants, sponsors, and anything that looks interesting."

"And you?"

"I'll do what journalists do."

He smiled.

"Annoy important people?"

You couldn't help laughing.

"Something like that."

Peter grinned.

"I like this assignment already."

You rolled your eyes.

"Give it an hour."

"I'm sure that'll change."

Together, you stepped inside.

The ballroom was already alive.

Music floated softly through the room.

Contestants posed for photographers.

Sponsors greeted guests with polished smiles.

Television crews adjusted lights.

Reporters searched for interviews.

Everything felt perfectly organized.

Which usually meant chaos was only a few minutes away.

Peter slowly turned in a circle.

"This is... a lot."

"It gets easier."

"You've done this before?"

"No."

You smiled.

"I'm pretending I have."

Peter laughed.

"Good strategy."

"It usually works."

"Alright."

He lifted his camera.

"I'll meet you back here in an hour."

"Deal."

He disappeared into the crowd.

You opened your notebook.

Time to work.

──────────── ✦ ────────────

Across the ballroom...

James Buchanan Barnes was doing exactly what everyone expected James Buchanan Barnes to do.

Smiling.

Shaking hands.

Posing for photographs.

Listening politely.

Sam leaned closer.

"I've had the same conversation six times."

"It's been three."

"It felt like six."

Bucky chuckled.

Then his attention drifted across the room.

"There she is," Sam said.

Bucky followed his gaze.

You were interviewing one of the contestants.

Notebook in hand.

Completely focused.

"She's back."

"She's working."

Sam smirked.

"So are you."

Steve finally looked over.

"The reporter?"

"The reporter."

Sam folded his arms.

"I give it ten minutes before one of you starts asking impossible questions."

"I'm not looking for her."

"No."

Sam smiled.

"You're just looking at her."

Bucky sighed.

"You never get tired, do you?"

"Never."

Steve checked his watch.

"Buck."

"You've got five minutes."

"I know."

But even as another sponsor approached...

His eyes wandered back to you.

──────────── ✦ ────────────

The morning passed faster than expected.

You interviewed contestants.

Judges.

Sponsors.

You filled page after page with notes.

Every so often...

You caught Bucky somewhere across the ballroom.

Speaking with donors.

Taking photographs.

Greeting guests.

Always surrounded by people.

Always smiling.

Always performing.

Until...

"You know."

A familiar voice spoke beside you.

"I was beginning to think you were avoiding me."

You looked up.

Bucky stood beside you with his hands in his pockets.

"I could say the same thing."

"You could."

"But I'd be right."

He smiled.

"You usually think you are."

"I usually am."

That earned a laugh.

"So."

He nodded toward your notebook.

"Any exciting discoveries?"

"Besides the fact that everyone here has memorized the exact same speech?"

"Ouch."

"Am I wrong?"

He considered it.

"...No."

You smiled.

"I knew it."

"You journalists are exhausting."

"And billionaires aren't?"

"We're professionally exhausting."

That made you laugh.

A real laugh.

Not polite.

Not forced.

Bucky noticed.

"So you do smile."

"Don't get used to it."

"I wasn't planning on it."

"You sound disappointed."

"I am."

You rolled your eyes.

"You're impossible."

"I've heard that."

"And?"

"I've decided to embrace it."

For the first time...

The conversation didn't feel like an interview.

It felt...

Easy.

They wandered slowly through the ballroom as they talked.

Not because either of them intended to.

Simply because neither noticed they were walking.

A photographer standing near the press area lowered his coffee.

Barnes.

Talking to the same reporter.

Interesting.

He quietly lifted his camera.

Click.

The two of you laughing.

Click.

Walking side by side.

Click.

Bucky listening while you spoke.

Click.

You smiling at something he'd said.

Neither of you noticed.

Neither of you had any reason to.

Steve appeared a few minutes later.

"Buck."

Bucky looked over.

"I know."

He glanced back at you.

"I suppose duty calls."

"Again."

"Unfortunately."

He took a few steps away.

Then paused.

"You know..."

You looked at him.

"I still haven't answered your question."

"No."

"I haven't."

"And?"

A teasing smile crossed his face.

"Maybe tomorrow."

Before you could come up with a reply, Sam called from across the room.

"Barnes!"

Bucky laughed.

"I should probably save myself."

"I was just about to say the same thing."

"I'm sure you were."

He gave you a small nod before walking away.

You watched him disappear into another crowd of sponsors.

Then looked down at your notebook.

One final line.

James Buchanan Barnes is far more interesting when he's not trying to be.

You closed it.

Across the ballroom...

The photographer reviewed the images on the back of his camera.

One after another.

Barnes laughing.

The mystery reporter smiling.

The two of them walking through the ballroom as if they were the only people in it.

He smiled.

"Perfect."

He slipped the memory card into his pocket.

Tomorrow morning...

Everyone would have a story to tell.

Just not the right one.

──────────── ✦ ────────────

Bucky rejoined Steve and Sam just as another sponsor approached.

Sam took one look at him before smirking.

"So."

Bucky sighed.

"So."

"She's funny."

Bucky adjusted the cuff of his jacket.

"I never said she wasn't."

Steve glanced up from the schedule in his hands.

"You two looked busy."

"We talked."

Sam laughed.

"You talked for almost twenty minutes."

Bucky frowned.

"It wasn't twenty."

Steve raised an eyebrow.

"You timed it?"

"I didn't."

Sam folded his arms.

"You noticed."

Bucky opened his mouth.

Then closed it again.

Sam grinned.

"That's somehow worse."

A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of Bucky's mouth.

"I had a conversation."

"With the same reporter you definitely weren't looking for this morning."

"I wasn't looking for her."

"No."

Sam nodded.

"You just happened to end up talking to her."

"Exactly."

Steve shook his head, though the corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly.

"We have another meeting."

"I know."

Bucky glanced across the ballroom one last time.

You were already interviewing another contestant.

Completely focused.

Notebook in hand.

As though the conversation you'd just shared had simply been another part of your workday.

A small smile found its way onto his face.

Interesting.

"Barnes."

Steve's voice pulled him back.

"We're late."

Bucky tore his eyes away.

"Right."

He followed Steve toward the sponsor luncheon.

Completely unaware that somewhere else in the ballroom...

A photographer was quietly packing away his camera.

Satisfied.

He already had tomorrow's headline.

──────────── ✦ ────────────

The second the press conference ended, the ballroom erupted into chaos.

Questions flew from every direction.

Camera flashes lit up the room.

Reporters hurried toward the stage, notebooks and microphones in hand, each one determined to be the first to get another quote.

James Buchanan Barnes disappeared into the middle of it all.

You closed your notebook.

One answer.

Three new questions.

Not exactly the trade you'd been hoping for.

Around you, journalists rushed forward, eager to ask about next year's competition or the Foundation's latest initiatives.

You stayed where you were.

Watching.

Listening.

Thinking.

Because the answer he'd given you had been good.

Too good.

Carefully rehearsed.

The kind of answer that sounded true without actually revealing very much.

And that bothered you.

A voice interrupted your thoughts.

"Not bad."

You turned.

The man smiled as he tucked his notebook beneath his arm.

Late twenties.

Maybe early thirties.

A press badge hung around his neck.

Daniel Hayes.

The New York Chronicle.

You recognized the name immediately.

You'd read a handful of his articles while you were still in college.

Mostly investigative pieces.

The kind that always seemed to uncover something everyone else had missed.

"You almost gave that moderator a heart attack."

You glanced back toward the stage.

"I asked a question."

Daniel chuckled.

"You asked the question."

You couldn't decide whether that was a compliment.

Or a warning.

"I don't understand. What do you mean by the question? Everybody asks questions. That's what a press conference is for, isn't it?"

A quiet laugh escaped him.

"Technically? Sure."

His gaze drifted back toward the stage, where the crowd of reporters was still surrounding Bucky.

"But most people in this room aren't here to make anyone uncomfortable."

You frowned.

"Then what are they here for?"

"Quotes."

He nodded toward the growing crowd.

"A headline. A photo. Something they can turn into tomorrow's article."

His eyes met yours again.

"You asked something that actually required an answer."

You looked back at the stage.

Bucky was still standing beneath the bright ballroom lights.

Shaking hands.

Smiling for photographs.

Answering questions as though he'd done this a thousand times before.

Which, considering his last name...

He probably had.

"Didn't he answer it?" you asked.

Daniel was quiet for a moment.

"He answered."

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Whether he answered your question..."

He shrugged.

"...that's for you to decide."

Your eyes drifted back to Bucky.

The smile.

The confidence.

The effortless charm.

Everything about him looked perfectly composed.

Almost...

Too composed.

──────────── ✦ ────────────

Movement near the edge of the stage caught your attention.

Steve Rogers stepped toward Bucky, leaning in just enough to murmur something in his ear.

The smile on Bucky's face didn't disappear.

But it changed.

Only for a second.

Subtle.

Almost imperceptible.

His eyes shifted briefly toward one of the ballroom exits.

Then back to the crowd surrounding him.

The smile returned.

Polished.

Practiced.

As though nothing had happened.

Most people wouldn't have noticed.

Most people were too busy trying to get closer.

Too busy calling his name.

Too busy taking pictures.

You weren't.

Your pen moved across the page.

First genuine reaction.

Find out why.

You underlined the last sentence once.

Interesting.

──────────── ✦ ────────────

Daniel followed your gaze.

"You'll learn."

You looked at him.

"Learn what?"

"That people like Barnes spend their entire lives answering questions..."

He nodded toward the reporters still surrounding Bucky.

"...without actually saying very much."

A corner of your mouth lifted.

"I'd rather find out for myself."

"I figured you'd say that."

Before you could say another word, Steve began guiding Bucky toward one of the ballroom's side exits.

The crowd immediately shifted with him.

Some reporters gave up.

Others hurried after him.

You closed your notebook.

"Where are you going?" Daniel asked.

"To finish my interview."

A laugh escaped him.

"You don't have an interview."

"Not yet."

Without waiting for a reply, you slipped into the crowd.

Determined not to let James Buchanan Barnes disappear before you got the answers you came for.

You caught up to him just before he reached the hallway leading away from the ballroom.

"Mr. Barnes."

He didn't stop.

"I was beginning to think you'd given up."

"I don't give up that easily."

"No?"

"Not when I still have unanswered questions."

That finally made him slow down.

Steve glanced between the two of you.

"Bucky—"

"It's alright."

Bucky looked at you over his shoulder.

"I've got two minutes."

Steve sighed.

"You've got one."

Bucky smiled.

"See? I'm already losing negotiating power."

You ignored the joke.

"Why Miss Congeniality?"

He raised an eyebrow.

"That's your follow-up?"

"You could fund scholarships anywhere."

"I could."

"So why here?"

He studied you for a moment.

Longer than necessary.

"As I said before..."

"Our foundation believes talent shouldn't depend on circumstance."

"You already gave that answer."

"I did."

"And I'm asking again."

A grin spread across his face.

"I noticed."

You crossed your arms.

"So?"

"So..."

He took one slow step closer.

Not enough to invade your space.

Just enough to lower his voice.

"I don't think you're going to like this job very much."

You frowned.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"You ask difficult questions."

"That's my job."

"Exactly."

His smile widened.

"And people with difficult questions rarely make easy friends."

You held his gaze.

"I'm not here to make friends."

"No."

He nodded thoughtfully.

"I figured that out when you started reading our financial reports."

Your eyes narrowed.

"How did you know I'd read them?"

"You quoted numbers."

He shrugged.

"I assumed you hadn't memorized them by accident."

You hated to admit it.

He had a point.

"You still haven't answered my question."

"No."

"And?"

"And I won't."

For the first time since you'd met him, he looked genuinely amused.

"Not today."

You stared at him in disbelief.

"You're refusing?"

"I'm postponing."

"There's a difference?"

"I think so."

Steve stepped forward.

"We really have to go."

Bucky nodded.

"I know."

Before turning away, he looked back at you one last time.

"Try not to spend all night reading our annual reports."

You blinked.

"You assume I will."

"I don't."

A teasing smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"I know you will."

And with that...

He walked away.

You watched him disappear down the hallway, surrounded by security once again.

Confident.

Composed.

Entirely too pleased with himself.

Your notebook opened almost on instinct.

You wrote only one line.

James Buchanan Barnes enjoys answering questions...

A brief pause.

Then you added another.

...almost as much as he enjoys avoiding them.

You closed the notebook.

"Oh," you murmured to yourself.

"We're definitely not finished."

──────────── ✦ ────────────

Beauty pageants weren't exactly the kind of stories you'd imagined writing.

Yet there you were.

Standing outside the Grand Regency Hotel with a press badge around your neck and a notebook tucked beneath your arm.

A banner stretched across the entrance.

MISS CONGENIALITY

The words were impossible to miss.

Unfortunately.

You had imagined political scandals.

Corporate investigations.

Stories worth writing.

Stories that mattered.

Instead, your very first assignment had turned out to be a beauty pageant.

Tony Stark called it an opportunity.

You were starting to believe it was more of a test.

──────────── ✦ ────────────

The revolving doors opened before you could change your mind.

The lobby was already crowded.

Contestants.

Photographers.

Sponsors.

Event staff rushing from one place to another.

Everyone seemed to have somewhere important to be.

Everyone except you.

You adjusted the press badge hanging from your neck and stepped further inside.

Almost immediately, someone shoved a welcome packet into your hands.

"Press registration is straight ahead."

"Thanks."

The woman was already helping someone else before you finished speaking.

Efficient.

You could respect that.

After checking in, you made your way toward the main ballroom.

The closer you got, the louder everything became.

Conversations overlapped.

Cameras flashed.

Someone was testing a microphone.

A contestant hurried past carrying a pair of heels.

You weren't entirely sure how any of this worked.

And honestly?

You weren't sure you wanted to.

──────────── ✦ ────────────

The ballroom doors stood open.

Inside, dozens of contestants moved between interviews and photo opportunities.

At the far end of the room, sponsors mingled near a large stage decorated with flowers and banners.

You opened your notebook.

Time to pretend you knew what you were doing.

A familiar voice suddenly echoed in your head.

Every story matters.

Tony.

Of course.

You rolled your eyes.

Maybe.

But you still had your doubts.

Then, just as you started writing, you heard a name.

A name that immediately caught your attention.

"Barnes."

You looked up.

Two event organizers stood nearby, speaking quietly.

"The Barnes Foundation is sponsoring the scholarship again this year."

"Good. We can't afford to lose them."

Your pen paused above the page.

Barnes.

The same name printed several times throughout the event packet.

The same name Tony had pointed out before sending you here.

Interesting.

──────────── ✦ ────────────

You glanced down at the schedule once more.

The Barnes Foundation.

Whatever role the family played in Miss Congeniality, it was clearly an important one.

And judging by the way everyone seemed to speak about them, important wasn't the only word people used.

You scribbled a quick note in your notebook.

Then another.

Maybe this assignment wouldn't be as boring as you'd expected after all.

At the very least, it had given you your first lead.

A movement near the ballroom entrance caught your attention.

Several security guards had suddenly become much more alert.

Interesting.

Security wasn't unusual at an event like this.

But this felt different.

Deliberate.

Coordinated.

Like they were expecting someone important.

Two men in dark suits were standing near the entrance.

One was broad-shouldered and impossibly blond.

The other looked far more relaxed.

Like he was only half paying attention.

Which somehow made him seem even more observant.

They exchanged a few quiet words before one of them spoke into an earpiece.

You frowned.

Definitely important.

Your journalist instincts immediately perked up.

Because people didn't spend this much money on security for no reason.

You glanced around the room.

The contestants hadn't noticed.

Most of the guests hadn't either.

But the event organizers had.

Several of them were suddenly checking their phones.

Others were moving toward the entrance.

Preparing.

Waiting.

For what?

Or rather—

For who?

Your pen moved across the page.

Increased security.

Barnes Foundation connected?

You underlined the last question.

Maybe it meant nothing.

Maybe it meant everything.

A moment later, the relaxed one noticed you staring.

His eyebrow lifted slightly.

Caught.

You immediately looked down at your notebook.

Professional.

Very professional.

Unfortunately, when you looked up again, he was still watching.

And now he looked amused.

Great.

Just great.

──────────── ✦ ────────────

Elsewhere near the ballroom entrance...

Steve adjusted the earpiece hidden beneath his hair.

Everything appeared normal.

Which usually meant it wouldn't stay that way for long.

"You're doing it again."

Steve glanced at Sam.

"Doing what?"

"Looking for problems."

"I'm head of security."

"Exactly."

Sam's attention shifted toward the crowd.

Most guests were focused on the contestants.

The sponsors.

The stage.

One person wasn't.

A young reporter standing near the back of the room was openly watching the security team.

Notebook in hand.

Curious.

Observant.

Sam smiled.

"Reporter."

Steve followed his gaze.

The woman immediately looked away.

Caught.

"Think she's trouble?"

Sam laughed.

"She's a journalist."

"That's not an answer."

"It's absolutely an answer."

Before Steve could respond, a voice crackled through his earpiece.

"Vehicle arriving."

Both men straightened.

Showtime

──────────── ✦ ────────────

You looked up just in time to see the atmosphere shift.

Something was happening.

Or rather—

Someone was arriving.

James Buchanan Barnes.

The room seemed to shift the moment he arrived.

Conversations quieted.

Cameras lifted.

Sponsors straightened.

Even the event organizers looked relieved.

And somehow, despite the attention surrounding him, Bucky Barnes looked completely unaffected by it.

Like he'd spent his entire life walking into rooms and becoming the center of attention.

Which, judging by the reaction around you, he probably had.

Before you could look away again, someone stepped onto the stage.

A microphone squealed briefly.

The crowd immediately quieted.

"Good afternoon, everyone."

An event coordinator smiled at the audience.

"We'd like to thank our sponsors, contestants, members of the press, and distinguished guests for joining us today."

You flipped to a clean page in your notebook.

Finally.

Something resembling actual work.

The coordinator continued speaking about the competition's history.

The scholarship fund.

The charity partnerships.

Important information, technically.

Not particularly exciting information.

Your attention drifted.

Until—

"We'd also like to thank the Barnes Foundation for its continued support."

The room broke into applause.

You looked up immediately.

Interesting.

Beside the stage, Bucky offered a polite smile.

Nothing flashy.

Nothing dramatic.

Just practiced.

Comfortable.

Like he'd attended a thousand events exactly like this one.

Which, to be fair, he probably had.

"And now," the coordinator continued, "Mr. Barnes has agreed to say a few words."

A collective murmur spread through the room.

Several reporters immediately sat up straighter.

You did too.

Because if everyone else suddenly cared, maybe you should as well.

Bucky stepped toward the microphone.

Confident.

Relaxed.

Annoyingly handsome.

You hated that last observation.

Almost as much as you hated the fact that it was true.

"Thank you for being here today."

His voice was deeper than you expected.

Calm.

Steady.

The room quieted instantly.

"Miss Congeniality has always been about creating opportunities."

You prepared yourself for a boring corporate speech.

Instead—

"Our foundation believes talent shouldn't depend on circumstance."

Your pen paused.

That wasn't what you'd expected him to say.

Beside you, another reporter began taking notes faster.

You did the same.

Maybe this assignment was about to get a little more interesting.

The applause came quickly.

Polite.

Expected.

Bucky stepped away from the microphone.

The event coordinator immediately smiled.

"We have time for a few questions."

Of course they did.

Several reporters raised their hands before she had even finished speaking.

You stayed where you were.

Listening.

Watching.

The first question was about the scholarship program.

The second was about future partnerships.

The third was about the competition itself.

Safe questions.

Predictable questions.

Questions that could have been answered by reading the event brochure.

Bucky answered each one easily.

Patient.

Professional.

Completely unbothered.

The room seemed satisfied.

You weren't.

Because none of these questions actually mattered.

You glanced down at your notebook.

Three years of sponsorship reports.

Financial statements.

Public records.

You'd spent most of yesterday researching the Barnes Foundation.

Not because Tony had asked you to.

Because something had felt off.

The moderator pointed toward another reporter.

Then another.

Then another.

More easy questions.

More easy answers.

Finally, you raised your hand.

The moderator hesitated.

Then nodded.

"You in the back."

Several reporters turned.

Bucky did too.

The moment his eyes landed on you, recognition flashed across his face.

The reporter.

The one watching security.

Interesting.

You stood.

Notebook in hand.

"According to the Barnes Foundation's public reports, the scholarship fund has increased every year since your partnership with Miss Congeniality began."

Bucky nodded.

"That's correct."

"So why have the recipient numbers remained almost exactly the same?"

Silence.

Not complete silence.

But enough.

Enough to notice.

Enough to matter.

A few organizers exchanged glances.

Someone near the stage shifted uncomfortably.

The moderator suddenly looked like she regretted choosing you.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

Bucky never looked away.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then a corner of his mouth lifted.

"Most reporters introduce themselves first."

A few people laughed.

You didn't.

His smile widened slightly.

"But that's a fair question."

You crossed your arms.

"And?"

More laughter.

This time, you were fairly certain it came from the security team near the entrance.

Bucky glanced briefly in their direction before looking back at you.

"And now she's impatient."

"I'm a journalist."

"Dangerous combination."

A few reporters chuckled.

You remained unimpressed.

Or at least, that was the goal.

Something told you James Buchanan Barnes was used to charming his way through difficult situations.

You had no intention of making it that easy.

Bucky seemed to realize that.

His expression shifted slightly.

Not completely serious.

But close.

"The increase in funding hasn't gone toward expanding the number of recipients."

Your pen immediately moved across the page.

"It's gone toward expanding the value of each scholarship."

You frowned.

Bucky continued.

"Tuition costs have increased significantly over the last several years."

That much was true.

"The Foundation made the decision to ensure every recipient receives enough support to complete their education without additional financial burden."

The answer sounded prepared.

Reasonable.

Logical.

Maybe even honest.

Yet something still bothered you.

Something you couldn't quite identify.

"Any follow-up questions?"

You opened your mouth.

The moderator immediately pointed somewhere else.

"Let's hear from someone who hasn't spoken yet."

You stared.

The moderator avoided eye contact.

Coward.

Beside you, another reporter stood and asked a question about next year's competition.

You stopped listening.

Instead, you glanced back toward the stage.

Only to discover Bucky was still looking at you.

Not at the reporter.

Not at the crowd.

At you.

His eyebrow lifted slightly.

As if he knew exactly what you were thinking.

As if he knew you weren't convinced.

Annoying.

A moment later, the event coordinator stepped forward.

"Thank you, everyone."

The session was over.

The crowd immediately surged forward.

Reporters.

Photographers.

Sponsors.

Everyone suddenly trying to get closer to the stage.

You closed your notebook.

One question answered.

Several more created.

Definitely a good start.

Across the room, Bucky watched as you disappeared into the crowd.

Interesting.

Most reporters wanted a quote.

A photograph.

A headline.

You looked like you wanted answers.

And somehow, that made you far more interesting than everyone else in the room.

Near the ballroom entrance, Sam appeared beside him.

"You've got that look."

Bucky glanced at him.

"What look?"

"The one that means you're about to make someone else's life complicated."

Bucky looked back toward where you'd been standing moments earlier.

A small smile appeared.

"I asked one question."

Sam snorted.

"You didn't ask the question."

"Details."

Steve joined them.

"What are we talking about?"

Sam pointed toward the crowd.

"The reporter."

Steve immediately sighed.

"Oh no."

"What?"

"You sound interested."

For the first time all afternoon, he found himself looking forward to the rest of the event.

Something told him the reporter wasn't finished asking questions.

And somehow—

He wasn't sure he wanted her to be.

──────────── ✦ ────────────

The words The Beacon looked far more intimidating in person.

For years, they had existed only on your screen, attached to articles written by journalists you admired.

Now they towered above the entrance to Parker Media's building.

And suddenly, getting the job felt a lot more real.

"You look terrified."

A redhead pulled you out of your thoughts.

"Are you lost?"

"No," you said. "I'm just mentally preparing myself."

The woman laughed.

"Good. For a second, I thought I was going to have to give you directions."

You smiled sheepishly.

"Am I really that easy to read?"

"A little."

"Great."

"Relax," she said. "The building hasn't scared anyone away yet."

You laughed.

"Yet?"

"There's still time."

The woman held out her hand.

"Wanda Maximoff."

Your eyes widened.

You recognized the name immediately.

Wanda had written some of your favorite articles for The Beacon.

The kind professors talked about in class.

The kind you hoped to write someday.

You quickly shook her hand.

"It's nice to meet you."

A knowing smile crossed Wanda's face.

"New hire?"

You nodded.

"Thought so."

And just like that, your nerves doubled.

"Come on," Wanda said. "Let's go inside before you change your mind."

"I wasn't going to change my mind."

Wanda raised an eyebrow.

"You were staring at the building like it was about to eat you."

You followed her through the revolving doors.

The lobby was somehow even more intimidating than the outside.

Glass.

Marble.

Employees moving with purpose.

Everything looked polished.

Professional.

Expensive.

You suddenly became very aware of the coffee stain you'd spent ten minutes trying to remove from your sleeve.

Wanda pressed the button for the elevator.

"You'll get used to it."

"What makes you think I need to get used to it?"

"The fact that you've looked one minor inconvenience away from a panic attack since I met you."

You laughed despite yourself.

The elevator doors opened.

Inside, several employees greeted Wanda by name.

She greeted every single one back.

Effortlessly.

Like she belonged here.

Like she'd always belonged here.

You hoped one day you would, too.

The elevator climbed higher and higher.

With every floor, your stomach seemed to sink lower.

By the time the doors opened again, your palms were sweating.

The newsroom was chaos.

Controlled chaos.

Phones ringing.

Conversations overlapping.

Keyboards clicking.

Televisions broadcasting news from every corner of the room.

For a moment, you simply stared.

It was everything you'd imagined.

And somehow even more.

"Don't just stand there," Wanda said with a laugh.

"You'll get run over."

You quickly stepped aside as someone rushed past carrying a stack of papers.

"See?"

"Good start."

Wanda led you through the maze of desks.

People were talking.

Writing.

Arguing.

Working on stories that would be published for thousands of readers.

Your readers.

Hopefully.

Eventually.

"Here she is."

You stopped.

A man stood near the center of the newsroom.

Dark suit.

Expensive watch.

Confident posture.

Everyone seemed aware of his presence.

Even when they pretended not to be.

Tony Stark.

Your heart immediately attempted to escape your chest.

"You must be our new journalist."

You nodded.

Then realized you hadn't actually spoken.

"Yes. Sorry. Yes."

Smooth.

Very smooth.

Tony looked amused.

Wanda looked amused.

You wanted the floor to open up and swallow you whole.

Tony crossed his arms.

"Nervous?"

"No."

The lie came out far too quickly.

Tony laughed.

"Good. Journalists should be nervous."

You blinked.

"What?"

"If you're not nervous, it means you think you know everything."

He gestured toward the newsroom.

"Trust me. You don't."

You weren't sure whether that was encouraging or terrifying.

Maybe both.

Tony studied you for a moment.

Then nodded.

"Good."

You frowned.

"Good?"

"You care."

Before you could ask what that meant, Tony was already walking away.

"Try not to burn the place down on your first day."

You stared after him.

Wanda grinned.

"Congratulations."

"On what?"

"You survived your first Tony Stark interaction."

"I'm not sure I did."

Wanda laughed.

"Oh, you're going to fit in just fine."

──────────── ✦ ────────────

Wanda stopped beside a cluster of desks.

"Might as well introduce you to everyone."

A young man lowered his camera.

"Peter Parker."

He smiled.

"Hi."

You recognized him immediately.

His photographs appeared on the front page more often than anyone else's.

"Nice to meet you."

"You too."

Peter glanced at Wanda.

"She looks terrified."

"That's because she is."

"Good."

You stared.

"Good?"

"Means you care."

Wanda pointed to the next desk.

"Kate Bishop."

A woman looked up from her laptop.

"Ignore Peter."

"I was being supportive."

"You never are."

Peter looked offended.

Kate rolled her eyes.

Then she smiled at you.

"Welcome to The Beacon."

Wanda continued walking.

At the next desk sat a man surrounded by papers, notes, and at least three coffee cups.

"Bruce Banner."

Bruce looked up from his computer.

A warm smile immediately appeared on his face.

"Welcome."

You smiled back.

"Thank you."

"First day?"

You nodded.

Bruce chuckled softly.

"Don't worry. The first week is worse."

Your eyes widened.

"The first week?"

Bruce laughed.

"Sorry. That wasn't encouraging, was it?"

"Not even a little."

"You're doing great already."

And somehow, hearing it from him actually made you feel better.

Then a booming voice echoed across the newsroom.

"WANDA!"

You nearly jumped.

A very tall blond man appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

Thor.

The Thor.

One of The Beacon's most famous foreign correspondents.

He was carrying a box of donuts.

An entire box.

"Who is our new friend?"

Before you could answer, Thor offered you a donut.

"Welcome to The Beacon."

You blinked.

"Thank you?"

Thor nodded proudly.

"Excellent. She has accepted the welcoming pastry."

Peter groaned.

"That's not a thing."

"It is now."

Kate buried her face in her hands.

Bruce looked far too used to this.

Thor smiled brightly.

"You shall fit in wonderfully."

You laughed.

And for the first time since arriving that morning, your nerves eased completely.

Maybe this place wasn't as intimidating as you'd thought.

Maybe it could even feel like home someday.

──────────── ✦ ────────────

You spent the next hour trying to convince yourself that you belonged there.

It wasn't going particularly well.

The newsroom buzzed around you.

Reporters moved from desk to desk.

Phones rang constantly.

Someone across the room was arguing with an editor over a headline.

Another journalist looked like they hadn't slept in three days.

You loved it.

Every chaotic second of it.

This was where stories were written.

Where careers were made.

Where the articles you'd spent years reading had come to life.

For the first time that morning, your nerves began to settle.

Maybe you could do this.

Maybe you belonged here after all.

A shadow appeared beside your desk.

You looked up.

Wanda.

"Still breathing?"

"Barely."

"Good."

You rolled your eyes.

Before you could ask what she meant, a voice carried across the newsroom.

"Kid."

Your head snapped up.

Tony Stark stood outside his office.

Looking directly at you.

Your stomach dropped.

"Oh no."

Wanda laughed.

"Oh yes."

"What did I do?"

"No idea."

"That's somehow worse."

Tony pointed toward his office.

"Inside."

The walk across the newsroom felt much longer than it actually was.

By the time you reached his office, your heart was racing.

"Close the door."

You did.

Tony sat behind his desk, scrolling through something on a tablet.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then he set the tablet down.

"Tell me why you wanted to work here."

You blinked.

The question caught you off guard.

Tony waited.

You took a breath.

"Because I want to tell stories that matter."

Tony nodded.

"Good."

Then he slid a file across the desk.

Assignment One.

Your pulse quickened.

You opened it.

Miss Congeniality.

Your excitement immediately deflated.

Tony noticed.

"You look disappointed."

"No."

The lie was obvious.

Tony laughed.

"Try again."

You sighed.

"I thought it would be something else."

"Such as?"

"I don't know."

"A political scandal?"

"Maybe."

"A corporate investigation?"

"Possibly."

"A mysterious source with classified documents?"

You hesitated.

"That would be nice."

Tony leaned back in his chair.

"Every journalist wants the big story."

You looked down at the file.

A beauty pageant.

Not exactly what you'd imagined.

Tony tapped the folder.

"Read further."

You did.

Sponsors.

Judges.

Contestants.

Charity partners.

Important guests.

Then your eyes landed on a name.

James Buchanan Barnes.

The name sounded familiar.

You frowned.

Tony noticed immediately.

"What do you know about James Barnes?"

You looked up.

"Nothing."

Tony laughed.

Actually laughed.

Then he shook his head.

"Well, kid."

He stood and grabbed his coffee.

"You're about to."

And suddenly, your first assignment seemed a lot more interesting.

──────────── ✦ ────────────

The music began.

And suddenly everything felt real.

The guests rose from their seats.

The ceremony fell silent.

Bucky stood at the end of the aisle, hands clasped tightly in front of him.

Waiting.

The doors opened.

His breath caught immediately.

There you were.

For a moment, the entire world disappeared.

The flowers.

The guests.

The decorations.

The music.

Everything.

Until there was only you.

Walking toward him.

Beautiful.

Smiling.

His.

A lump formed in Bucky's throat.

Across the aisle, Steve smiled.

Sam looked entirely too pleased with himself.

Thor was already emotional.

Very emotional.

Bucky didn't notice any of it.

Because he couldn't stop looking at you.

You had imagined this moment a thousand different ways.

None of them came close to the real thing.

Bucky looked nervous.

Overwhelmed.

Happy.

The moment your eyes met, your own nerves eased.

Because no matter how many people surrounded you—

He was still Bucky.

Your best friend.

Your favorite person.

The man waiting for you at the end of the aisle.

Soon you were standing in front of him.

Close enough to take his hand.

Close enough to see the tears already gathering in his eyes.

You smiled.

Bucky laughed softly.

"You look beautiful."

You immediately felt your eyes sting.

"You're not supposed to make me cry before the vows."

"I'm not trying to."

"You're failing."

That only made him smile wider.

The ceremony continued.

Words were spoken.

Promises were made.

Memories were shared.

And before long, it was time.

The vows.

The ones you'd spent weeks writing.

The ones you'd practiced.

The ones you'd rewritten a hundred times.

Yet somehow, standing in front of Bucky, every prepared word seemed insignificant compared to what you actually felt.

The officiant smiled warmly.

"It's time for the vows."

You took a shaky breath.

Then looked directly at Bucky.

"You once asked me what I thought we'd be doing in ten years.

I said we'd have a house.

Maybe a few dogs.

A future we'd built together.

What I didn't say was that none of those things were ever what mattered most.

You were.

You have been my best friend for so long that I can't remember what my life looked like before you were in it.

You're the first person I want to tell when something good happens.

The person I turn to when something goes wrong.

My favorite part of every day.

You have made me laugh when I wanted to cry.

You have believed in me when I couldn't believe in myself.

You have loved me through every version of who I've been.

And somehow, after all these years, you still choose me.

So today, I promise to keep choosing you too.

I promise to stand beside you on the good days and the difficult ones.

I promise to support your dreams.

To celebrate your victories.

To hold your hand through every challenge.

I promise to make our house a home.

To love every dog you inevitably bring home.

To watch movies with you even when you pick the worst ones."

A few quiet laughs echoed through the guests.

You smiled.

"And to remind you every single day how loved you are.

Most of all, I promise that no matter what the future brings, you'll never have to face it alone.

Because you're my best friend.

My favorite person.

My home.

And I cannot wait to spend the rest of my life being yours."

By the time you finished speaking, tears were already gathering in Bucky's eyes.

And if the sniffles coming from the front row were any indication, you weren't the only one emotional.

Thor was openly crying.

Steve looked suspiciously close.

Natasha was pretending she wasn't.

Nobody believed her.

Bucky laughed softly as he wiped at his eyes.

"I had an entire speech prepared."

The guests laughed.

"So did I."

"It was good too."

You smiled.

"Was it?"

"Steve helped me practice it."

Steve immediately looked away.

"Sam made fun of it."

"Because it was terrible."

"It was not terrible."

"It was a little terrible."

More laughter spread through the ceremony.

Even the officiant was smiling now.

Bucky looked back at you.

And suddenly his smile softened.

The teasing disappeared.

Leaving only honesty behind.

"And now I can't remember a single word.

Because you're standing here.

And suddenly none of those rehearsed sentences feel important anymore.

What matters is this.

You changed my life.

Not in one big moment.

Not all at once.

You changed it in a thousand small ways.

Movie nights.

Lazy mornings.

Inside jokes.

The way you always know when something's wrong before I say a word.

The way you make every place feel like home.

Somewhere along the way, you became my favorite part of everything.

And I realized I never wanted to imagine a future that didn't have you in it."

Your vision blurred immediately.

Bucky smiled through tears of his own.

"So today, I promise to be the partner you deserve.

I promise to listen.

To support you.

To make you laugh whenever I can.

I promise to love you on the easy days and the hard ones.

To be honest with you.

To trust you.

To keep choosing you over and over again.

I promise to hold your hand through every chapter of our lives."

His voice caught slightly.

But he kept going.

"And when we're old and arguing over which movie to watch, I promise to let you think you're winning at least some of the time."

You laughed through your tears.

Bucky's smile widened.

"You are my best friend.

My greatest adventure.

The best thing that has ever happened to me.

And if I had to live my entire life over again, I would still find my way back to you.

Every single time."

The tears finally escaped.

From both of you.

And from several guests.

Thor wasn't even attempting to hide it anymore.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

You simply stood there.

Hands intertwined.

Eyes locked on each other.

The world around you fading away.

Until there was only him.

Only you.

Only forever waiting just a few words away.

The officiant smiled.

"Do you take James Buchanan Barnes to be your husband?"

You didn't hesitate.

"I do."

The answer came instantly.

The easiest answer you had ever given.

The officiant turned toward Bucky.

"And do you take—"

"I do."

The entire ceremony burst into laughter.

Even the officiant laughed.

"Bucky."

"Sorry."

He wasn't sorry at all.

Not even a little.

You laughed through your tears.

The officiant shook his head fondly.

"Then by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife."

Bucky's smile immediately returned.

The biggest one you'd ever seen.

"You may kiss the bride."

You didn't need to be told twice.

Neither did he.

The moment his lips met yours, applause erupted throughout the venue.

Cheers followed.

Someone wolf-whistled.

Definitely Sam.

Possibly Tony.

Maybe both.

You barely noticed.

Because Bucky's hand had found yours.

And neither of you planned on letting go.

The reception passed in a blur.

Music.

Laughter.

Photos.

Food.

Friends.

Family.

Love.

Everywhere you looked, there was love.

And every time you looked across the room, Bucky was already looking back.

Hours later, long after most of the guests had gone home, you found yourselves alone.

Finally.

The venue had grown quiet.

The lights softer.

The world slower.

You rested your head against Bucky's shoulder.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Neither of you needed to.

Then—

"Husband."

Bucky laughed.

The sound warm and familiar.

"Wife."

You smiled.

"I like that."

"Me too."

His fingers intertwined with yours.

Comfortable.

Easy.

Home.

The way they always had been.

The way they always would be.

And for the first time that day, there was nothing left to plan.

Nothing left to organize.

Nothing left to prepare for.

Just the future.

Together.

Forever.

And somehow, that was even better than the wedding.

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was the sunlight.

The second was the date on your phone.

Today.

Today was the day.

For a moment, you simply stared at the screen.

Then reality hit.

"Oh my God."

You were getting married.

Today.

A knock sounded on the bedroom door before it swung open.

Wanda peeked inside.

"There she is."

You sat up.

"Wanda."

She took one look at your face and laughed.

"Nervous?"

"No."

The lie lasted approximately half a second.

"Yes."

Wanda nodded.

"Good."

"Good?"

"If you weren't nervous, I'd be concerned."

You groaned and buried your face in a pillow.

From somewhere else in the apartment, you heard Natasha's voice.

"Is she awake?"

"Unfortunately," Wanda called back.

"Perfect."

That response did not make you feel better.

Bucky hadn't slept.

Not really.

Every time he'd managed to close his eyes, his brain had immediately reminded him of one important detail.

He was getting married today.

Today.

Not next month.

Not next week.

Today.

The realization had kept him awake most of the night.

By seven in the morning, he'd given up entirely.

Now he sat in the kitchen staring into a cup of coffee.

Steve walked in.

Took one look at him.

And sighed.

"You look terrible."

"Thank you."

"Did you sleep?"

"No."

"Thought so."

Steve sat across from him.

For a moment neither spoke.

Then—

"You nervous?"

Bucky laughed quietly.

"Is it that obvious?"

Steve smiled.

"A little."

Within an hour, your apartment had become complete chaos.

Pepper was checking schedules.

Natasha was somehow in charge of everything despite nobody putting her in charge.

Wanda was trying to keep everyone calm.

And you were beginning to suspect that staying in bed had been the better option.

"Drink water."

You looked up.

Pepper was holding out a bottle.

You accepted it immediately.

"Thank you."

"You haven't eaten either."

"Pepper."

"You haven't."

You sighed.

"No."

Pepper pointed toward the kitchen.

"Food."

You obeyed.

Nobody argued with Pepper Potts.

Nobody.

Unfortunately, Bucky's side of the wedding preparations wasn't any calmer.

Sam had already shown up.

Which immediately lowered the maturity level of the room.

Significantly.

"You look scared."

"I'm not scared."

"You look scared."

Steve didn't even bother defending him.

Traitor.

Thor arrived shortly afterward carrying enough breakfast for ten people.

Nobody questioned it.

At this point, they were all used to Thor.

"Bucky!"

Thor pulled him into a crushing hug.

"Today is the day!"

Bucky laughed despite himself.

"Yeah."

"It shall be glorious."

"I hope so."

Thor looked genuinely offended.

"It will be glorious."

Your phone buzzed.

You smiled instantly.

Bucky.

Good morning.

A second message followed.

Are you nervous too?

You laughed.

Then typed back.

Terrified.

The reply came almost immediately.

Good. Me too.

Your smile widened.

The moment your response appeared on his screen, some of Bucky's nerves disappeared.

Not all of them.

Just enough.

Because if you were nervous too, then at least he wasn't alone.

Sam immediately noticed him smiling.

"Oh no."

Bucky looked up.

"What?"

"She's texting him."

Steve laughed.

Thor looked delighted.

"Excellent."

Bucky rolled his eyes.

"I hate all of you."

"No, you don't."

"No, I don't."

Hours later, you stood in front of a mirror.

And suddenly everything became very quiet.

The dress hung perfectly.

The veil rested carefully in place.

For the first time all morning, nobody was talking.

Nobody was moving.

Nobody was rushing around.

The room had gone completely still.

You barely recognized the reflection staring back at you.

Not because you looked different.

Because today felt different.

Real.

After months of planning.

Months of preparation.

Months of counting down.

The day had finally arrived.

A hand gently squeezed your shoulder.

You looked up.

Natasha.

For once, she wasn't teasing you.

Wasn't making jokes.

Wasn't pretending not to care.

She smiled softly.

"You look happy."

You swallowed around the sudden lump in your throat.

"I am."

Natasha nodded.

"Good."

That was all she said.

But somehow it meant everything.

Bucky adjusted his tie for what was probably the twentieth time.

Maybe the thirtieth.

He wasn't counting anymore.

"You know she's still going to marry you even if your tie isn't perfect."

Bucky looked over.

Bruce.

Helpful as always.

"It's not the tie."

Bruce smiled knowingly.

"I know."

The room grew quieter.

Everyone suddenly understanding what this moment meant.

Years ago, Bucky hadn't imagined a future like this.

Hadn't imagined standing in a suit surrounded by friends.

Hadn't imagined finding someone who loved him the way you did.

Yet here he was.

And in less than an hour, he would be standing at the end of an aisle waiting for you.

The thought nearly knocked the breath from his lungs.

A soft knock interrupted your thoughts.

The wedding coordinator peeked inside.

"It's time."

Your heart skipped a beat.

Time.

You took one final breath.

One final look around the room.

Then smiled.

The guests were arriving.

The music had started.

And for the first time all morning, the joking stopped.

The teasing stopped.

Everything stopped.

Because it was time.

Steve squeezed Bucky's shoulder.

Sam smiled.

Thor looked emotional.

Very emotional.

Bucky looked toward the ceremony entrance.

Waiting.

Ready.

Unable to stop smiling.

Because after all the planning.

All the waiting.

All the moments that had led here.

He was finally going to marry his best friend.

And somewhere on the other side of the venue, you were walking toward forever.