the tables have turned | steve/bucky

chapter twenty four

"... and again, I'm so happy that all three of us are together," I said for the hundredth time, practically rolling my eyes out of my head. I could feel Bucky scowling at the back of my skull, and Natasha was burning a hole into my temple with that scorching stare of hers. The dry humor wasn't helping; the sarcasm definitely wasn't doing me any good either. But I couldn't help myself. It's not like I could beat the shit of out either of them until they spilled the beans, or put a gun to their head and demand that they tell me what all those shenanigans back there were about. I had to deal with the googly eyes and too-long-touches the best way I knew how: by trying not to seem upset, when in reality I was about to explode.

Anyway. We were just pulling into the department store parking lot when Natasha leaned over to me and said, "Just so you know, I'm picking out your outfit. The whole 1940's getup isn't going to fly at Stark's ball." My face went into something of a slightly offended expression once she said it, but the way Natasha's evil smile looked under the moonlight made me laugh a little. Being a jerk pleased her. Plus, who could keep a straight face when Bucky was snickering like a maniac in the backseat?

"Okay," I threw up my hands in defeat. "Just pick something nice. Something... cool."

"Okay, Gramps," Natasha joked, hopping out the car. Bucky lost it.

--

"Do I look fat?"

Okay, you probably expect that line to be Natasha's. Well it's not, you sexist asshole! It came outta my mouth, and I'm damn proud of my insecurities. Peak of human perfection, eh? Yeah right. The way those trousers squeezed my waist, you would have sworn I had a muffin top. 

"You look handsome," Bucky absently said.

"You're not even looking at me!" I whined. And he wasn't. I guess picking the fuzz off of his shirt was more interesting than seeing me try on suits. Looks like somebody isn't getting any head tonight.

"Oh shut the hell up and put these on. Here." Natasha shoved me and another pair of slacks back into the fitting room before I could protest. I huffed out irately. I felt like a kid again, only this time all the clothes were too small for me. You see, my body is disproportionate. My torso is huge, while everything below the waist is small and petite. Except for my penis. That things a monster--

I'm getting off track here. Okay, so I was having better luck with the second suit I tried on. It was a form-fitting ready-to-wear three piece. Black on black, of course. That was Natasha's trademark or something. She said that black clothing on fair-skinned people looked better than good. Since I was blessed with blond hair and blue eyes, she added, a touch of darkness was something I desperately needed. I surpassed better than good with this outfit. I looked... better than great.

I was feeling myself once the suit was on properly. I was getting the jitters. The last time I looked this good, I came out of an incubator weighing 100 pounds more. The memory of Peggy's bewildered face when she saw me that day made me laugh a little too hard. Oh, Peggy... I miss you.

Natasha's feet clicked impatiently on the other side of the door, awaiting the big reveal. Standing on my tippy toes, I peaked over the door to check if Bucky was still preoccupied with the fuzz on his shirt. He wasn't. Bingo.

"Voila!" I triumphantly sang, kicking the door wide open for the entire world to see me in my suit. I half expected the ceilings to open and rain down confetti on me. Perhaps a marching band would appear from behind the racks and join me in a kick-ass, all-too-catchy Disney style duet. Or maybe Natasha and Bucky's eyes would pop outta their heads like the cartoon's do. I mean, I was looking like a million bucks... why wouldn't they?