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“What do you think?”
Steve turned the gadget over in his hands, raising an eyebrow at the man sitting opposite him.
“It’s very nice, Howard, but I don’t see how a toy camera is going to come in handy on the battlefield.” Howard Stark rolled his eyes and joined Steve on the other side of his desk.
“You slay me, Rogers, you really do,” he took the contraption back and flipped it over, “and it’s not a toy. It’s a hyper-compact film camera I’ve been tinkering with over the last little while. Small and hardy enough to be brought into the most extreme situations.” Steve nodded, impressed,
“It’s really something, Stark, I’ll give you that,” he said, “but I’d rather not have to worry about whether my thumb’s in the frame when my men and I are out on missions.”
“I just need someone to field test the thing,” Howard pleaded, “I’m not asking you to film an epic. Just a couple shots here and there during your downtime.” Steve looked ready to protest again, but Howard held up a hand to silence him, “Don’t tell me you don’t have downtime. I’ve seen how many sketchbooks you’ve gone through, and I know you’re not drawing Sgt. Barnes’ portrait in the middle of a firefight.” Howard smirked at the way Steve cast his gaze downward.
“Those are private,” he muttered, a hint of crimson creeping up around his ears. Howard laughed and clapped him on the back,
“And I’m sure you’d like them to stay that way. Come on, you’d be doing me a real favour,” he said. Steve tried half-heartedly to argue, but quickly gave in and agreed to take on the task. Howard delightedly dropped the camera in Steve’s lap and ushered him toward the door.
“Thanks, big guy,” he said with a wink, “I owe you big time!”
“I’m holding you to that,” Steve grumbled as Howard closed the door behind him.
…
For all his initial hesitance and barely contained disdain, Steve had to admit that he had become quite taken with his new role as both commanding officer and unofficial documentarian of the Howling Commandos’ campaign across Europe. Whenever the captain had a spare moment he found himself behind the viewfinder of that camera, driving his men bananas with constant orders to smile and wave. The only one of them who didn’t seem to mind was Bucky, who embraced their CO’s enthusiasm and corrupted it into a force for evil. He’d pull stunts like calling Steve over to where Dugan was dozing and tugging on his moustache, making sure their fellow soldier’s expression of indignant rage was well situated in the frame. Bucky was bruised black and blue within days.
Three weeks into the campaign Bucky had been banned from eating around the fire with the other commandos. The mere sight of him walking toward any one of the company earned him glares and warnings to keep his distance.
“Fine then,” he’d reply, smirking and turning on his heel, “guess I’ll just have to eat in the officer’s mess.” Of course, he was just referring to Steve’s tent, which was barely ten steps from where the fire was being set up, but it didn’t hurt to remind the rabble that he was best friends with the CO. He strutted confidently into the tent, dramatically brushing aside the entry sheets and announcing his presence. Steve’s hands quickly found their way behind his back in a gesture that was not at all suspicious.
“Sorry,” Bucky said, wryly, “am I interrupting something?” Steve shook his head, feigning nonchalance, and turned his attention to a map spread out in front of him.
“No, not at all. I was just going over some movements for tomorrow, you know.” Bucky sat down next to him and looked closely at the chart.
“Yeah, yeah of course, that makes sense. You definitely weren’t screwing around with Stark’s camera again!” He darted a hand behind Steve’s back and retrieved the offending item, bringing the viewfinder to his eye and turning it on the captain.
“Hey!” Steve tried in vain to retrieve the camera, but Bucky had jumped up and scooted to the other side of the tent with it, “Give it back, Bucky, you’re going to break it!”
“What were you filming?” Bucky asked, raising his eyebrows, “Filthy postcards for Peggy?” Steve rolled his eyes and strode over to where Bucky was filming him from.
“Come on, Buck, quit messing around, I’m busy!” He grabbed Bucky by the arm and pulled him in close, grasping for the camera but missing again. Bucky brought their chests flush and held the camera at arm’s length to film their faces.
“Smile, Stevie,” he grinned, leaning in and planting a kiss on Steve’s lips. That finally made the captain crack a smile before pushing Bucky away, good-naturedly.
“The men are going to talk if you keep spending this much time in my tent.” Bucky came up behind him and wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist, trailing delicate kisses up his neck as far as he could reach. He still wasn’t used to Steve being this tall, to having to lean his face up instead of crouching down to kiss him.
“As long as they only talk among themselves and not to Phillips I don’t care what they say.”
“Good God, Bucky, are you still filming?” Steve demanded, groaning. Bucky smiled against his skin.
“You’re supposed to be testing this thing for Stark, right,” He asked in answer, turning Steve around to face him, “what do you say we see how long it can record for?” Steve laughed and kissed him, more deeply this time.
“You’re sick, Barnes,” he chuckled.
“I love you too.” Bucky laid the camera, still rolling, down on the table and led Steve toward his cot.
…
Howard was surprised to find three reels of film in a cardboard box on his desk when he came into his small office in their London base.
“Are these from Captain Rogers?” He asked his secretary, who had only just gotten into work herself. She shrugged,
“I don’t know, sir. They came by courier, though, expedited post.” He thanked her and examined the small card that lay under the reels. It read:
Howard,
We’re even.
- Steve
He held a strip up to the light and immediately went red, nearly choking on his own breath. When he regained his composure, he shook his head and sighed, shoving the reel back into the box.
“No, I think now you owe me.”