Captain America and Bucky Barnes Imagines

41. STEVE: Pack Your Bags

Words: 850

A/N: Just something short and sweet after the last few longer, intense chapters!

           

"Steve?"

You wait to hear a response from your boyfriend. It takes a few moments, then there's a called reply.

"In the office, babe."

You leave the living room and your favorite movie running on the TV. Down the hall you venture towards that little room at the back of the apartment where Steve does all his post-mission paperwork and takes all of his business calls (mainly from Tony, but sometimes from SHIELD agents, too). Then you find Steve sitting there at his desk with his legs widely splayed and hair a neatly combed array. He's no longer damp from that shower he had this morning after his workout, but the smell of his shampoo is still lingering in the muggy air.

Against the doorway you lean a shoulder and peer into the room. It's an organized mess. Books line shelves and pens are crammed into mason jars on the windowsill. There's a picture frame beside him. It's a picture of you (the dog's there, too).

"How's it going, Cap?" you ask kindly. You make sure that your voice sounds extra sweet.

Steve sighs, as if he already knows what you're doing. "It's fine, Y/N. There's just a lot to do after we got back from Prague." His eyes are still glued to all these charts and things scattered on his desk. You don't know what any of it means, quite honestly, but if you had to guess it'd be about damage control. Banner hulked-out during the last mission and it caused quite a bit of mess.

"Anything I can do to help you?" You know what his answer will be, but it's still polite to ask.

Steve's blond head gives a curt shake. His eyes, bright blue like the sapphire on your necklace he gave you last spring, dart up to regard you for a quick instant. "Thank you, darling, but I don't think so."

You nod. Watching him go back to his work, you become ultra-impatient yet again. It's so boring when he's gone—lonely, too. But it's even worse when he's here and too busy to see you.

Without really making any attempts to stop yourself, you come into the office. You sit on the couch by the wall and just watch Steve while he continues to work.

After a few minutes of this, Steve turns his head. "What is it, Y/N?" he sounds a bit annoyed, but you really don't care.

"Around what time do you think you'll be able to pay attention to me?" you ask.

Steve sighs. His shoulders are slumped a bit from all the hard work. He's got a new bruise under his left eye from this last mission and a cut along his chin from the one before that.

"Y/N, honey, you know that I want to spend time with you, but I've just got so much to do."

"But why do you have to do this part? You do the other thing—saving the world and cleaning up after everyone else on the team—why do you still get stuck with the paperwork? Doesn't really seem fair to me." Your arms cross as you continue to pout.

Steve rubs a hand along his face. "I know it's not fair, it's not fair for me and it's certainly not fair for you." He stops to look back at you—seemingly lost in thought. You push out your bottom lip and he can't help but smile despite himself. Then he's shaking his head, almost in denial. "Alright, I'll tell you what," he says and gestures for you to come over. Excited, you hurry to his side—laughing a bit when he grabs your waist and pulls you down onto his lap. His arms immediately encircle your waist and his hands dig into your back. "How about you go get ready," Steve starts out nice and slow. "And pack a bag." Your eyes widen a bit, causing him to chuckle before he goes on. "And by the time you're ready, I'll be done here and we can go."

"Go? Go where?"

Steve kisses your lips soft and quick. "That's up to you. Anywhere you want. We'll disappear for the rest of the weekend—just you and me. We don't have to be back until you've got work and if you wanna call in sick..."

"I just might be coming down with a flu bug, come to think of it," you reply with a laugh. Steve gives your bum a nice little whack. You climb out of his chair, eager now to leave, and kiss his cheek. "You sure about this, Steve? I understand that you've got other things to do, and priorities and everything..."

Steve stops you with a shake of his head. "No, darling, nothing in this world takes priority over you." He pulls you over by the hand for another stolen kiss before you push off again—hurrying out of the room to pack for the spontaneous trip: clapping yourself on the back for the accomplishment all the while, and hearing Steve chuckle to himself with a good bit of glee.