Captain America and Bucky Barnes Imagines

80. STEVE: Yes, Ma'am (1)

A/N: So sorry about the wait on this one! I've been struggling for real with ideas on new imagines, but hopefully with the start of the new year I'll get lots of new inspiration!

Thanks for the patience!

Winnie

Words: 3K

The creation of the Avengers team is something you remember fondly. Just having enrolled in college, studying journalism and public relations, the images of the superheroes were blasted on every digital screen and printed page from Santa Monica to Timbuctoo. The crew intrigued you: so much so that you based all of your final projects throughout all four years on them and their issues. Of course, all of the issues you'd seen were simply external. You never would've imagined that those papers and theories would've landed you an interview in Tony Stark's main office in upstate NYC. And from there, one year out of graduate school, a fancy office with a view overlooking the entire city. Tony Stark saw something in you that no one else did. He saw potential. And more importantly, based on your skills and knack for smoothing over problems, you'd be able to handle the PR nightmare that is the Avengers team.

Now you see everything. The issues these people have are enough to keep you up at night with stress and dodging press chaos during the day. And when you thought Ultron was bad enough (try being the one to explain that it'd all been a mess made by Stark himself), Civil War came around and blew all your bullshit expectations out of the water.

Thank god that's all over. Now, three years later, everything seems to be settling back into the routine. Team Cap is back home—training for another apocalypse, no less, and this last World War against a purple grape alien has given you even MORE superheroes to keep track of (you wish that Quill guy would be as easy to work with as Dr. Strange).

Anyway, this is all to say that the Avengers owe a hell of a lot to you. You might not be the one plastered on every TV screen, but you're the voice at the backs of their minds, the words printed on the page from the press to the people, and the glue that keeps their crazy asses together.

You suppose that sort of makes you a different breed of superhero.

Mid-April and the rain showers never seem to cease. The green grass around the hidden compound is sloshy with thick mud. The boots of training agents splatter as they jog in timed circles. In the middle of the field a combat zone is fenced off where enhanced humans spar in the storm. You stand at your windowed wall with a phone to your ear watching the world spin around you.

"...Like I said before, Mr. Rogers' comments are in no way affiliated with any official Avengers beliefs or opinions." You shift your weight from one heel to the other as the storm clouds shift and let a bit of sunlight fall over the building. The glittering white grey hardwood of your office sparkles like the crystal of your custom glass desk.

Someone knocks at your closed office door. Wrapping up the official phone call you hang up the line and walk back to your desk. Glasses slipping down the bridge of your nose you let FRIDAY usher your guest inside—assuming it's the intern finally back with your lunch.

Instead of a nerdy, lanky intern boy standing in the doorway, though, there's a tall beefy man named Steve. He's wearing a pair of new khakis and a snug button down shirt. He's the epitome of someone's golfing, goofy grandpa: only in a sexy fresh-outta-grad-school hunky package.

Despite his looks, you're still annoyed. "What the hell were you thinking, Steve?" You smack a palm on your desk.

Steve blinks, holding up a sack of food. "I saw the intern on his way to the cafeteria. I thought I'd bring you some food....?"