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“Hey Buck, three calls in one day, you must be missing me.”
“Steve. This is an emergency.”
Steve's voice immediately changed, all attention. “What's wrong?”
“It's my first address to Congress tomorrow.”
“Dammit Buck, if anyone has anything to say about it they can talk to me. You've done more time than anyone feels you're due, you've been exonerated by the God damn President, for Christ's sake, are they ever going to just let you forget your past and be of service again?”
“Steve.”
“You want me to come down there? I can be there in four hours. Hell, make it three.”
“Steve.”
“I won't have it, Buck. They'll treat you with the respect you're due or they'll answer to me.”
“Steven Grant Rogers will you please just listen to me? No-one has been treating me badly. I'm absolutely fine and looking forward to tomorrow. There is nobody here for you to fight and you don't have to defend my honour.”
Steve paused, allowing the wind to leave his sails. “Oh. But you said it was an emergency.”
“It is. You know that dress shirt we bought.”
Steve paused again, a little derailed by the change in conversational direction. “Oh, yeah. How could I forget it at that price? That beautiful white twill from Eton Shirts, I have to admit to being a little jealous when you decided on it, it's so soft to the touch. A lovely piece of work. Why?”
“You really do have an eidetic memory, don't you?”
Steve barked out a laugh. “I could probably tell you the name of the Sales Assistant in Saks if you give me long enough. But what about the shirt? Don't tell me you don't have cufflinks because I packed them for you myself.”
“I spilled pasta sauce down the front of it.”
“What?!”
“And got some stuck in the grooves on my arm.”
“Bucky!”
“It wasn't my fault, I was multitasking!”
“You're not safe to be let out by yourself, really you're not.”
“I'm the Winter Soldier, Steve.”
“And did you ever dress yourself for missions? Because I'm seriously beginning to wonder.”
“Steve.”
“What?”
“I rang you for help.”
“And what am I supposed to do from Brooklyn when your shirt…”
“And arm.”
“Shirt and arm are in Washington?”
“I had it on good authority that you have the finest tactical mind on Earth.”
“And who told you that?”
“You did.”
Steve's voice became muffled so his reply was lost.
“I can't hear you,” said Bucky, looking down forlornly at his ruined shirt.
“Sorry, I was looking something up on my tablet. Okay. Saks in DC opens till 8pm, assuming you've got a change of clothes to wear down there, if not they do same day emergency delivery. You go and buy a new one, take the old one with you and I'll message you with details of a reliable dry cleaner once I've found one.”
“And what about my arm?”
Bucky couldn't see Steve rolling his eyes but he still knew it was happening. “Can't you wipe it down?”
“I tried, it still smells of tomato sauce.”
“Then the only thing left is the dishwasher.”
“How do we know Suri made it dishwasher proof?”
“I'm pretty sure it can cope with anything you choose to throw at it, Buck, but I'll message Suri to make sure while you're out shopping, if it'll make you feel better.”
“Okay.”
“Is there anything else I can help you with, Congressman Barnes?”
“No,” replied Bucky, sounding a little sheepish. “Thanks Steve, you're the best.”
“No problem,” said Steve, “for you, I can do this all day.”
The replacement shirt was a hundred dollars more expensive than the original one but my word, it was worth it. For his first address to Congress Congressman Barnes looked like he'd just stepped off the red carpet at the Oscars.
And his metal arm smelt of lemons.