"When you meet someone
so different from yourself,
in a good way,
you don't even have to kiss
to have fireworks go off."
― Lisa Schroeder

May 2012

Everyone had told Winnie that she might've been able to win the Governorship on a campaign based on emotional honesty, but she would never be able to win the Presidency the same way. They would call her emotional, her campaign advisers said; weak, childish, hormonal, female, Omegan. 'They' would say she could, should never be trusted with the nuclear launch codes, that she would never be trusted to lead a nation at war, that she couldn't possibly have the constitution for diplomatic engagements. Her advisers had wanted her to listen to them, to become unflappable and even coy, private, mostly reserved but determined.

Not herself.

No. She could never do that. It was the epitome of the opposite of being emotionally honest. And most importantly: Winnifred Barnes fully believed in herself and her ability to change the world—or, at least, the cesspool that had kidnapped her beautiful country long ago. She could change that, at the very least, and maybe even North America as a whole if she could find ways to better their relations with Mexico, even Canada—the latter's Prime Minister, with his all-Omegan children, was soundly in her court on many issues, some of which she'd never even dreamed of, and was a positive example for all Alphas around the world.

There was so much to do. Too much to cover in eight years. She would try. But one step at a time. And, yes, she would need lots of allies.

Just not… these ones.

Instead of listening to her advisers, Winnifred fired every single one of them except for Potts and Romanov—who had both been just as insulted as Winnie had been at the suggestions. It seemed absurd that the team had somehow forgotten how much the people of New York state loved exactly who and what Winnifred was.

Perhaps they supported Omegan and female power… to a point.

But no, she would take it all the way. Alone if she had to.

Despite losing them—or, rather, because she kicked them to the curb—she'd won in a landslide, and then the real work began.

It was tough going, but she never once backed down from her plans to fix the festering wound within her beautiful country.

Instead of giving in like everyone expected her to in the face of so much vile filth and corruption, selfishness and greed, President Barnes shamed the United States into starting to come around to reason. Instead, President Barnes leaned into what she said were her individual strengths—emotions, feeling, reason, and Scottish stubbornness bred into the family for generations—and ran with it. Instead, President Barnes opened up to the nation, and let them know it was okay to feel. That it could be a strength. That they didn't have to lie and cheat their way to the system; that someone would be there to help them, to help them up and help them heal and help them become.

President Barnes… Winnifred... was going to kill her son for leaning into his own natural strengths:

Running straight into the fire, guns blazing and knife flashing.

He'd been in New York when the wormhole first appeared, and when he'd texted her to tell his own mother—in a TEXT!—that he was going to go fight the goddamn aliens that had started pouring out of the thing (she had an entire wall devoted to displaying the ugly creatures, the Chitauri, and not one of her video feeds had been able to find her son—not that she'd expected them to find a damn CIA operative dressed in black in the middle of an urban battlefield, really now—but she'd had to shove that aside and focus on protecting her people—and the rest of the world, it seemed). She'd tried to call him. Immediately. But the phone lines and cell networks were already down by then.

She understood, she really did, and she just knew that he'd be found near Toni one way or another, that the two of them would look out for each other as they had since boarding school (Bucky could give even Iron Man a run for her money with that beautiful arm she'd crafted him after… After), and that there was nothing she could do to change the nature of her son.

She was proud of him, really. So proud of him. She knew the risks, and yet she also knew he wouldn't want her to worry. So she didn't.

But Winnifred was still tempted to text him the very news which had so shocked her, hours after the invasion had been brought to its knees (she could practically hear the Starkling complaining about the Phantom Menace-style deaths of the Chitauri, but she would take anything she could get, honestly). He'd texted her that he was going to war, basically. His own mother, and he'd texted her the words that could very well be his last—and so far were, because he hadn't found some way to let her know he was alive after everything was said and done (she'd had reports of him alive and well, but that wasn't the same, the impertinent child—though she thought it fondly).

So maybe… maybe she'd text him the news that he was now betrothed to the very man he'd been reported fighting alongside: Captain America.

Then not reply for a whole day.

See how he liked it.

But no, no that wasn't fair. Not fair in the same way that her son, her Omega child, son of the President… was now legally betrothed to a man based on a Presidential Boon granted decades before her son was even born.

To a man who was supposed to be dead. Fucking Roosevelt family—it was supposed to be one of them. It was their plan, after all.

Fucking hell.

She needed to get to the bottom of this.

But first… first the Chitauri. First, her people.

She could be a mother later.

"Get me S.H.I.E.L.D.," she sighed tiredly, though there was steel in her voice.

Darcy nodded, but shot her a concerned glance (which promised drambuie and Game of Thrones later) as she dialed up the number very few people had reason to call—though it seemed like she'd been talking to S.H.I.E.L.D. a hell of a lot more in the last month than she ever had in the last three years.

Her other advisers were running around, freaking out about how to spin this alien attack towards her re-election campaign, but frankly, Winnie didn't give a shit. She'd love to stay in another four years to help even more people, but as long as Winnie could take care of the people who were under her care now… well, the future could take care of itself, and she'd help if—when—she got there.

For now…

Well, it's not like any campaign advisor had predicted an alien invasion. But there was one unofficial advisor who had...

"Director Fury, what in the fuck happened? None of that tailored shit—you give it to me straight, with as much cussing as you want to throw in to make you honest. Now."

Steve stared at the contraption masquerading as a shower in befuddlement, clutching at the white towel he'd wrapped around his waist after he'd chucked the charred remains of his uniform.

The Battle had been over for only a couple of hours, and though most of the injuries he'd sustained were already healed, he was barely able to keep himself upright. His exhaustion ran bone-deep, and all he wanted to do, truthfully, was rinse himself off with hot water and collapse on the nearest horizontal surface to sleep for forty-eight hours.

He had not counted on the complicated contraption that was Toni's shower, though.

"Uh," he said eloquently. "JARVIS?"

"Yes, Captain?" The A.I. replied serenely.

Steve stared at the many knobs and taps on the shower and sighed. "How do I turn this thing on? I just wanna take a shower."

"The large round tap in the middle to turn it on," JARVIS replied kindly. "The red tap to its left for hot water, the blue on its right for colder water."

"Right," Steve nodded, frowning a little as he stepped forward and reached for the tap. "Right."

Just as he managed to turn the water on, an almighty crash sounded from the next room, and he could hear someone bellow, "Stark! Get your stupid self-sacrificing ass over here!"

There was another loud crash and more shouting, and Steve moved without thinking, throwing the bathroom door open and sprinting into the living area, barely stopping to snatch his shield off the bedroom floor where he'd abandoned it.

"Toni!" he shouted, shield ready to throw at whatever villain had attacked them this time—and stopped, staring at the scene before him.

Toni stood at the kitchen island, still dressed in the now-filthy shirt she had been wearing under the suit during the battle, bottle of a vile green concoction that was probably another one of those smoothies she'd tried to foist on him earlier raised halfway to her lips and halfway across the room stood—stood—

Steve abruptly lowered his shield.

The man was tall and built, dressed in what appeared to be this world's version of combat gear, dark hair tied up in a messy bun on top of his head and he was—he was beautiful.

His eyes were a light, striking bluish grey and set in a face with high cheekbones and full, pink lips and a jawline so sharp Steve was half convinced it might cut glass. He was almost definitely as tall as Steve was, but broader and thicker, his muscles obvious even beneath the weighty, bulky tactical gear the man wore and Steve—

Steve faltered a little when he caught a whiff of what could only be… Omega.

The man before him looked nothing like an Omega, nothing like the lithe, shorter frames that Steve had come to expect. Nothing like Toni, though even she was more muscular than her rare fellow Omegans.

But she didn't really do it for him, not like this man.

Even covered in ash and dust and blood, he looked like every wet dream Steve had ever had rolled into one… and he abruptly realized that he was wearing nothing but a towel that was doing very little to hide just how affected he was by the man that stood before him.

He wondered briefly if Toni would be terribly offended if he just dragged the mystery man back into the bedroom to have his way with him.

"Cap," Toni said, breaking Steve from his—admittedly entirely lustful—thoughts. "This is Bucky. He needs to learn how to knock, so certain people won't panic and think we're under attack every time someone bursts in."

"Right," the man said in a softer, huskier voice than Steve had expected from him. "Sorry."

He eyed Steve rather blatantly, gaze trailing from Steve's exposed shoulders down his chest to the very edge of Steve's poor little towel. Steve could feel his eyes burning on his skin as they traveled down his body and he barely resisted the urge to preen under the exceptionally attractive stranger's gaze.

"Didn't mean to interrupt your shower," the man continued, drawing his lower lip between his teeth as he grinned at Steve.

"Yeah?" Steve smirked back, setting down the shield, leaning it up against the wall and hooking a thumb in his towel, inching it down just a tad. "I can tell you're real' sorry."

Bucky grinned delightedly and Steve's cheeks flushed.

He hadn't tried to flirt with anyone this brazenly… ever. He probably wasn't doing a very good job of it, but it wasn't like he'd had much experience—there hadn't been a lot of people who'd wanted to go steady with an Alpha they might step on before he'd gotten the serum, and after…

After there hadn't been any need for flirting with Omegas and Betas and even Alphas literally throwing themselves at him wherever he went.

Bucky, who had taken Steve's momentary trip down memory lane as an opportunity to ogle him shamelessly, swaggered forward, lower lip still caught between his teeth, stopping right in front of him, so close Steve could feel the heat of the other man's skin radiating from him.

He gasped when the Omega reached out and grazed cold, silver fingertips—Steve hadn't even noticed the metal arm before now, so hyper-focused on the man's everything else—over the little trail of hair trailing down from his belly button into the folds of his towel. "I don't think you mind, do you, Captain?"

Steve shivered despite himself.

He may be an Alpha, but he'd always had a bit of a weakness for partners who could push him around a little, and he didn't doubt for a second that this Omega would be more than capable—and quite willing, too, it looked like.

"No," he breathed. "I don't think I mind at all."

He dropped his gaze to Bucky's lips and caught himself subconsciously swaying forward a little, drawn in by the man's delicious scent and inviting smile and eager—downright bold—touch.

"Good," Bucky purred, leaning in so close that Steve could feel his breath on his own lips—

"You guys realize I'm still in the room, right?" Toni interrupted them suddenly, mischievously, and Steve jerked away from Bucky hastily, nearly tripping backwards over his shield.

Bucky, too, moved back in a jerky, uncoordinated movement, eyes wide and as shocked as Steve's own had to be. He'd never been this affected by an Omega before, and he wasn't sure what to make of it—and judging by his expression, neither did Bucky.

"Right," Steve said. "Of course, you're—yeah—" He gestured towards the bedroom and bathroom in a clumsy gesture. "I should—I'm gonna—okay."

He turned on his heel and fled into the bathroom, shutting the door slightly harder than probably entirely necessary and leaned back against it, letting his head fall back against the door with a quiet thunk.

"Good job, Rogers," he told himself reproachfully. "Made a fool of yourself, probably insulted Toni's friend—in front of Stark herself." He sighed. "She's never gonna let this go."

"Probably not, Captain," JARVIS intoned helpfully.

Steve thunked his head back against the door again. "Thanks, JARVIS," he sighed.

"You're welcome," JARVIS said cheerfully.

After he had tried and failed to drown himself in Toni's shower and had squeezed himself into the clothes Toni had insisted he wear because "You don't have to dress like an actual grandpa, Rogers," he tentatively ventured back out into the living area.

He wasn't sure if he hoped that Bucky was still there, or hoped that he wasn't.

He still didn't understand why he'd reacted so strongly to the other man. It wasn't like he'd never met any other attractive Omegas—he'd worked closely with Peggy Carter for over two years, and that woman flirted more brazenly than anyone Steve'd ever met, for Christ's sake.

"Toni?" he queried cautiously, venturing further into the room when he didn't see her or Bucky immediately.

"Couch," she called back, and he rounded the corner to find her sprawled out on her back on the couch, her head on Pepper Potts' lap as the other woman dragged her fingers through Toni's messy curls. Bucky, to Steve's simultaneous delight and despair, sat cross-legged on the other couch, tapping on his phone with an expression of great consternation.

"Miss Potts," Steve greeted the powerful Beta politely, casting around for somewhere to sit that wasn't directly beside the Omega who had already made him lose his head once.

"Steve," Pepper smiled brightly at him. "It's nice to see you again. I'm glad you're okay. We were worried in D.C."

"And me you." Steve nodded even as he conceded defeat and took a seat beside Bucky. The other man looked at him briefly and shot him a tight smile, his cheeks oddly flushed before he glared back down at his phone.

There was a brief, slightly awkward silence before Pepper spoke up again. "So, Steve, I don't know if you've been introduced, this is—"

"Oh, they've met," Toni cackled from her spot in Pepper's lap. "Right, Barnes?"

Steve's cheeks flushed and he shifted a little, noticing that Bucky also looked profoundly uncomfortable, before the name Toni had called Bucky by fully registered. "Wait," he said, shaking his head a little as he looked between Toni and Bucky. "Barnes as in…"

"As in President Barnes?" Bucky said, looking up at Steve with a forced, wry smile. "Yep. James Buchanan Barnes, at your service." He looked down at his phone before he could catch Steve's gobsmacked reaction, and sighed again. "Hope you're ready to meet the president, Rogers. You're invited for dinner at the White House. Tonight."

Steve blinked.

Oh.

Shit.

Note: Um, hellooooo? Could Annaelle write the flirting script for my life? Holy shit. *fans face* Kudos to her for the bulk of the amazing Steve PoV. Holy cow, woman. Did we suddenly up the rating for this fic, lady? What do you think? Should we?

Next chapter... what will Juulna and Annaelle cook up for our boys' Very Important Dinner? I cannot confirm nor deny that we are or are not open to suggestions, especially from the lovely and hard-working kocuria. *blows kiss* Can't wait to see how the future MIL of C.A. and President of the U.S.A. will treat little Steve Rogers. Oh man... *happy cackle*

Thank you, everyone, for reading and commenting! Love from both myself (Juulna) and Annaelle! Annaelle has a 'new' Stucky fic about to be posted, Dancing in the Rain, so keep your eyes peeled for that! And Juulna has finally kicked down some roadblocks for Hanging From a Cross of Iron, so she shouuuuuld have something up within the next, oh, month? :P (This whole thing has thrown everyone off our stride, even us already-shut-ins, but the two of us are at least staying happy! And I hope you are too!)

Stay safe, stay inside, stay sane. Love! 3