[Inspired by the POV by the.stark.internship]

Washington, D.C. – Office of Congressman Sebastian G. Cross

Some people drown in paperwork. You? You swam laps in it, synchronized and caffeinated. If it existed on the internet—or in a backroom file not technically supposed to be there—you could find it. (©TRS0525CAI)

Which is why Hriffin Cross, reformed super soldier turned congressman with the emotional availability of a brick wall, hired you.

And thank God he did, because without you, he’d probably still be trying to figure out how to forward an email.

“Got it,” you murmur to yourself, eyes scanning the last bit of data on your screen. “And once again, the impossible folds like cheap laundry.”

With a practiced flick, you call his private line. He picks up on the second ring, voice low and scratchy from too many committee meetings and too few hours of sleep.

“Please tell me you’ve got it,” he says without preamble.

“I’ve got it,” you reply, already dropping the secured file into his inbox. “The PAC you’re looking into is laundering donations through a shell corp in Latvia. And guess what—turns out that 'educational non-profit’ is owned by the senator who tried to publicly crucify you last week.”

There’s a pause, like he’s either impressed or debating if he can legally hug you in the Capitol.

“You are a goddess,” Griffin says, and you can hear the smirk even if you can’t see it. “Ciao.”

Click.

He hangs up.

You stare at your phone, jaw slightly slack. “Did this man just... Italian goodbye me?” you mutter, before spinning in your chair and grumbling into your coffee. “Unbelievable.”

Capitol Hill Rotunda

Griffin pockets his phone and turns just in time to see Sam Wilson leaning against a marble pillar with a face full of suspicion.

“That was a… work call?” Sam asks, all innocent smile and sharp side-eye.

Griffin straightens his tie like it’s a defense mechanism. “It was.”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “Really? Because when I call your office, I get transferred four times and put on hold with instrumental Coldplay. You sounded like you were two seconds away from asking someone to run away to Paris.”

Griffin sighs. “She’s just efficient.”

“Mmm.” Sam grins. “Efficient. Is that what we’re calling it now?”

Griffin doesn't respond. Mostly because he's thinking about how your voice always dips when you're focused. About how you bring him black coffee when he forgets to eat. About how your heels sound like thunder in the hallway when someone questions your competence.

Sam claps a hand on his shoulder. “I give it two weeks before you break HR policy and try to kiss her in the copy room.”

Griffin shrugs. “I don’t use the copy room.”

Sam just grins wider. “Not yet, you don’t.”