Candyman

Chapter 7 - Diamond Dogs

"I have to be in DC by Wednesday."

"Anything exciting?"

"Not really. Meeting at the Pentagon. Boring weapons stuff."

"Oh."

"I will need you to meet me in New York by Friday morning."

"For Mr. Stark's party?"

"Bingo."

"For how long?"

"We'll fly back Sunday afternoon."

"Okay."

Furniture had started to arrive, real honest to god furniture. The couch Steve had chosen was practically a bed, deep and wide enough for both of you to lay in it (well, you were laying on top of him a bit). He had insisted that Thomas pick you up after work on Sunday, knowing that you always had Monday off, and the two of you hadn't really done much but lazed around the house, ordering in food and binging Netflix. He had done some work, answering a few calls and writing up a proposal, but you hadn't done anything. He didn't want you to. "This was your day to relax," he said, insisting that he just liked having someone else around. He must get bored and lonely in this giant house alone. To be honest, it must have been pretty lonely to be Steve Rogers. All your friends being in the same business, no family to speak of, the only outside perspective being the guy who drove you around. It made complete sense that he would be so comfortable with the arrangement the two of you had made.

"When do you leave for DC?" you asked absentmindedly, your chin resting on top of your hands that were folded on his chest. His right arm was draped over you, curving across your hip and the Avocados at Law were currently trying to win a case. It was curious how much Steve didn't like wearing shirts around his house.

"Tomorrow," he stated, bringing his free hand up to rub his face, "In the afternoon. I'll stay all day Wednesday and fly from there to New York Thursday after my last meeting. What's your schedule look like?"

You scrunched up your face, trying to remember your shifts for the next week, "I know I work Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday... I want to say I clopen Wednesday and Thursday."

"What the hell is clopen?"

You snorted at his ignorance. Obviously, he never served his time in the occupational hell known as retail shift work, "It's when you close one night and open the next day. I'm 12:30-9:30 on Wednesday and then 9-6 on Thursday. And then off Friday and Sunday, and ... I'm 12-9 on Saturday." You didn't want to say it. You didn't want to say the words that you knew by this point he hated so much and you were starting to loathe as well. Steve looked down at you, knowing what it was you were thinking, but you knew you couldn't miss this event because of one day of work. "I'll handle it.

He visibly softened at your words and he placed a light kiss on the top of your head. "Good girl," he murmured and that same warm sensation moved through you, tugging up at the corners of your lips. You would never admit it but when he did things like that, he kicked your praise kink into serious overdrive. "Believe me, you won't want to miss Tony's party, and especially not just to stay here and get yelled at for 8 hours."

No, you wouldn't want that.

********

But now you had to actually handle it and you had no idea how to approach it most effectively. Your first thought was to try to get someone to switch shifts with you. The good thing about switching was that you wouldn't actually be missing work, not that you couldn't afford to miss a day now. But, on the other hand, there was so much leg work involved. You would have to find out who already had that day off, and then find out who would be okay taking a Saturday shift. No one in their right mind would voluntarily give up a Saturday off. And then you were left with having to work the next Monday, your one consistent day off a week. Plus, who knew what Steve would want. He probably already had plans for you as soon as the two of you got back. No, switching your shift wouldn't be feasible.