Chapter Text
“Thank you and you have a nice day,” Steve says, smiling as he ends the call. It might not have made a difference, but he’s been trained to end every call that way and that’s what he does.
Adjusting his headset, Steve leans back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling tiles. He already knows the one directly above him contains two hundred-and-eighty-six tiny holes. He still counts them every time he’s got a lull between calls.
It’s strange because it’s nearly three in the morning, but he doesn’t have a long wait between calls.
“Thank you for calling State Farm. This is Steve, how can I help you today?”
“Hi, I’m calling to uh, report an accident?”
“Can I have your name and policy number, Sir?” Steve asks.
“Yeah, it’s James Barnes, and the policy number is three – two – five – five – seven – one – zero- seven.”
He rattles off the numbers quickly, but Steve’s used to that and he enters the information without a problem.
“Okay, Mr. Barnes. What’s the nature of the accident?”
“Well, Steve, I sorta ran my motorcycle into a pole.”
Steve holds back a chuckle, it’s not professional to laugh at people’s accidents. “Motorcycle into a pole. And were there any other parties involved?”
“Nah,” Mr. Barnes says. “Just me.”
“And do you need to make any injury claims?”
“What? Oh, yeah. I guess so. I um, kinda scraped up my hands and had to go to the emergency room.”
Steve’s entering all the details as Mr. Barnes gives them to him. “Mr. Barnes, I’m going to transfer you to the claims department and they’ll get the process started for you, unless you have any other questions?”
“That’s fine,” Mr. Barnes says wearily. “Thanks for your help, Steve.”
“Not a problem, Mr. Barnes,” Steve says. He poises his finger over the button to transfer the call. “I’m transferring you now.”
* * * *
Five months later, Steve is counting the same holes in the same ceiling time. Again.
As he waits for his line to ring again, he hears the voice of one of his co-workers over the constant low-level chaos of phones ringing and people talking.
“No sir, I understand. Of course, sir! Would you like to speak to my manager?”
Steve shakes his head at Sam. He’s a good operator, and usually one of the calmest people you’d ever talk to. But rude callers happen to everyone, and everyone has their own unique way of dealing with them. Sam’s method was to “kill them with kindness.” No matter how nasty or loud a customer got, Sam stayed polite, the only way you could tell Sam was dealing with an irate customer was that his volume increased. The louder Sam was, the more awful you knew the person on the other end of his line was.
Steve leans back again in his seat, peering around his cubicle wall. Around the corner, Sam’s wearing an exasperated look as he tried to calm down whoever was on the line.
“Of course, the customer is always right!” Sam says in a loud, cheerful tone. Steve has to wonder how that sounds on the other end of the phone, if it’s that loud in the room. After a few more minutes of Sam practically shouting, he pulls off his headset and leans back in his chair. Wearing a satisfied grin, Sam turns to Steve. “See, works ever time,” he says at a normal volume.
Steve goes back to counting the holes in the ceiling tile. Recounting them. He doesn’t quite have Sam’s knack for dealing with irate callers. It’s a shame he’s not allowed to bring his sketchbook to work, he’s certainly got plenty of time between calls.
A few minutes later and the light on Steve' phone lights up. He takes a breath to prepare himself, hits the button and puts on his best smile.
“Thank you for calling State Farm. This is Steve, how can I help you today?”
“Hi, Steve. I’m calling because I was um, looking over my bill and I had some question. Like I was kinda wondering if I was eligible for any discounts? Can you help me with that?”
Steve feels a flush of relief knowing that this caller wasn’t likely to shout at him. He recognizes this voice. Without realizing it, he relaxes into a more casual attitude.
“Of course, that’s why I’m here,” he says, smiling again. Steve fields calls like this all the time so he’s not surprised by the chuckle that come back across the line.
“Right, cool. I was expecting to get transferred to some cranky old lady who would tell me no.”
Although Steve knows he has co-workers that absolutely are like that, he sits up a little straighter, proud that he’s not cranky sounding.
“Ah, well thank you,” he says, not quite smoothly. Silence settles over the conversation before Steve realizes that he’s supposed to be helping this customer. Fortunately, his training kicks in before the caller hangs up. “What can I help you with today?”
More silence follows his words, before Steve realizes that he’s already asked that question.
“Ah, discounts? It’s been two months since my last accident and I wondered if I could get any discounts,” the man finally speaks up.
Steve releases a silent sigh of relief. Now they’re back on track. “I'd be glad to check and see if there are any discounts you’re eligible for. Give me your name and policy number then it’ll just be a moment while I bring up your account.”
“Sure. The name’s Barnes, James Barnes. Policy number is three – two – five – five – seven – one – zero- seven.”
Steve has to ask even though he already knows he’s talking to Mr. Barnes. He has a knack for remembering callers and he’s talked to Mr. Barnes plenty of times before, he’s handed him off to the claims department more than once. If his memory serves him right, there were quite a few incidents involving Mr. Barnes’ motorcycle. Usually single vehicle collisions and never any injuries involved. Well, beyond Mr. Barnes himself occasionally. “It should just be one second,” he says as he enters the information into his computer.
“Alright, I’ll time you,” Mr. Barnes says and then laughs at his own joke.
Lucky the system is pretty fast, so it only takes a minute to open his account, not making a liar out of Steve. “Mr. Barnes, could you please confirm your account information for me?” Steve asks.
“It's Bucky Barnes,” he replies, and Steve thinks he must have misheard him for a moment.
“Okay, so that's Bucky and not James?”
“Yeah. Oh, I mean no. Well, yes… okay, sorry, my first name is James, but everyone calls me Bucky.”
“Oh, okay, Bucky,” Steve murmurs, making a note in his file. He’s talked to this man probably six times before and he’s never heard him call himself Bucky. He moves on to the next standard question, “I see here you own a motorcycle, are you also a homeowner?”
“No, I rent.”
Steve keys in some information. “Okay, Mr. Barnes. Do you have any renters insurance?”
“I don’t, I mean, I don’t, but my roommate pays for the rental insurance right now. But I found a place that I can afford on my own and I’m thinking of moving soon. And please, call me Bucky,” he adds.
Now, the man was quiet as Steve scrolled through itemization on his bill.
A female voice speaks up from the other end of the phone. “Who are you talking to?”
“Steve from State Farm,” he hears Mr. Barnes say.
“I'm seeing here that if you were to add renters insurance to your policy, it would only cost you about ten dollars more a quarter because then you’d be able to qualify for a multi-policy discount,” Steve says, ignoring the other conversation Mr. Barnes is having.
“That sounds like a really good deal,” Mr. Barnes responds.
“Seriously,” the female voice comes again. “Steve from State Farm? It’s three o’clock in the morning!”
“Excuse me,” the female voice says directly in his ear now. “Who is this?” There’s the sounds of a scuffle in the background, and he hears Mr. Barnes’ voice. “Natasha! Give me the phone!”
“Who is this, really?” the woman demands.
“Steve, from State Farm,” he says, unsure of what’s going on.
“Really? Well then what are you wearing, Steve from State Farm,” she asks.
“Uh, khakis?” Steve answers truthfully. Even though customers never see them, all call center employees wear the same uniform, khakis and a red polo shirt.
“She sounds hideous,” the woman, Natasha, says.
Steve heard a frustrated shout. “That’s because Steve is a guy!”
“Oh, well then he sounds pretty cute,” Natasha says with a chuckle.
Then Mr. Barnes is back on the line. “I’m really sorry about that, my roommate is insane.”
Instead of commenting, he decides just to pretend it never happened. “Is there's nothing else I can help you with today?”
“No, that’s it I guess. Thanks, Steve. You've been very helpful.”
Steve can't help the wave of warmth he feels in response to the man’s genuine gratitude.
“It was my pleasure, Mr. Barnes. Please let us know if there is anything else we can help you with and thank you for doing business with State Farm. Have a nice day!”
The call ends without any sort of goodbye, but that's fairly typical. Steve leans back in his chair with a ridiculous smile he can't quite wipe off his face, even when Sam peers over his cubicle wall.
“Did I hear someone ask you what you were wearing?” he asks with a wide grin.
“I guess? I think it was a misunderstanding,” Steve replies with a shrug, and tries not to laugh when Sam adopts a look of fake shock.
Before he can say anything else, a new voice speaks up. “Gentlemen, is it break time already?”
Steve jumps in surprise but Sam only rolls his eyes when he sees their floor manager, Clint Barton standing by the cubicle.
“Hey, Clint,” Steve says. “I was just explaining to Sam a misunderstanding I had during my last call.”
Barton frowns, a look he wears often, but after a tense moment, he simply gives them both a withering look and shakes his head.
“Fine, just don’t miss any calls,” he says before stalking off.
Sam hangs over the wall, still staring until Steve clears his throat.
“Better get back to work,” Sam says, turning away. Before he disappears out of sight, Sam adds, “Next time, just do what I do, kill ‘em with kindness.”
Shaking his head, Steve turns back to his own desk just as his line rings again.
* * * *
Three days later, Steve’s counting the holes in the ceiling tile again when the light on his phone appears. He hits the button to connect the call, glad for a reprieve from the monotony.
“Thank you for calling State Farm. This is Steve, how can I help you today?”
“You’re way too cheerful for this time of night,” says a familiar voice.
“Hello, Mr. Barnes. What can I do for you today. I’m wearing khakis again, in case your roommate is curious,” he responds jokingly. He’s delighted when it earns him a laugh in response.
“It’s Bucky, remember? And yeah, no. Actually she’s the reason I’m calling,” he says. “She thinks I should ask you out.”
This catches Steve off guard. He’s more thrown than when someone starts yelling at him. None of their training had covered this. “Um, Mr. Barnes, we don't… I mean, I can’t, I don’t think we’re supposed to...”
“Please, call me Bucky. You can say no, I told Natasha she was crazy, but she thought you sounded like a nice guy and she basically twisted my arm to call you back.”
“Listen, Bucky you seem like a nice enough guy… I’m just not sure,” Steve trails off, feeling Sam’s eyes on him from over the side of the cubicle. He looks up at Sam who's mouthing the words “Go for it!” at him silently.
“So, would you want to go out for lunch, maybe at that diner on 7th and Chestnut Street tomorrow? Say at noon?”
Steve’s glad they’re having this conversation over the phone, that way he’s not making a fool of himself in front of Bucky. He’s worked for State Farm for three years and he’s never had anyone ask him out on a date before.
“Are you still there, Steve?”
Hearing his name, the way it rolls off Bucky’s tongue, brings him to his senses. “It’s um, very flattering of you to ask Mr. Barnes, Bucky… um, I guess I do have to eat lunch. So if we happened to be at the diner at the same time, who knows, maybe we could eat lunch together.” Before he changes his mind, or gets caught taking a personal call he decides to end the conversation. “So, um, thanks for calling today and thank you for choosing State Farm.”
He waits for Bucky to say something, to hang up or to call him out on his vague answer. Fortunately, he doesn’t have to wait too long.
“Have a nice night, Steve. See you tomorrow.”
Steve’s left staring at his monitor wondering if he really believes what just happened.
Sam peers over the cubicle wall again. “Did I just hear what I thought I heard?” he asks.
“That depends on what you thought you heard.”
“If I’m not mistaken I heard you agreeing to meet someone for lunch?”
“Yeah, that’s about it,” Steve admits. “Am I crazy? I’ve barely spoken to this guy and he called back just to ask me out? And I said yes.”
“Crazy, sure. But what fun is life if you can’t be a little crazy now and then,” Sam tells him.
“Oh my god, what if he’s some kind of weird creep?”
“You mean the kind of weird creep why asks out a guy who’s helping him with his car insurance policy?” Sam says with a smirk.
“Oh man,” Steve says, burying his head in his hands. “What if he takes one look at me and changes his mind?”
“Wait, are you more worried about him looking freaky or him thinking you look freaky?”
“Aaaugh, I don’t know! I’m not exactly a prize. I know I’m a scrawny asthmatic that’s so pale I’m—”
“Practically reflective,” Sam supplies helpfully. “Calm down Steve, there’s nothing wrong with the way you look, and I’m sure he’s fine too.”