AN: MERRY CHRISTMAS MY DARLINGS! I hope you all have a wonderful day. *smoochies*
Christmas 2015
"How did Stark get that up there?"
"He's an idiot."
"I guess it helps that his suit can fly." Steve muses, squinting up at the top of Avenger Tower where a huge blowup sprig of mistletoe has been hung. "Erskine should have added flying powers to the super soldier serum."
"Not gonna lie, Cap," Clint draws easily. "If you could fly, and I couldn't, I just might have to kill myself."
"Oh, don't be so melodramatic." Nat speaks up from Steve's other side. "Just cause your code name is Hawkeye."
"Sam's is Falcon and he can fly."
"The whining does not become you, Clint." Natasha smiles that indulgent smile that only comes around Clint. Steve grins a little. He definitely picked the right side in that bet.
He leaves them to it and wanders back inside. He hasn't seen Bucky in a while and it's starting to worry him a little. He's trying not to, Bucky's been back with him for almost a year and he's doing okay. He still doesn't like groups of people though, and Steve figures Christmas is hard on him though he likes the Avengers.
Inside Tony's penthouse, there's soft christmas music playing, Pepper and Jane sit at the kitchen bar laughing at something, Tony and Thor sit on the couch while Tony tries to explain football to the norse god. Sam and Bruce are suspiciously close to the egg nog and Steve suspects they're spiking it. It's a cozy, familiar enough scene even if it was a far cry from the tiny sparse Christmas' he had growing up.
Steve purposely ignores the little twigs of mistletoe that were hung in every doorway. Tony had been trying to catch odd couples all day.
Sometimes, Steve decides, Tony is much worse than Howard.
"Has anyone seen Bucky?" Steve asks the room at large. He felt kinda bad having lost track him. Bucky tends to stay on the outside of the group. Steve understands why of course, but he is supposed to be helping Bucky reintegrate himself into the world. Instead, he'd gotten distracted by giant mistletoe on the roof.
"He went downstairs about ten minutes ago," Sam offers. "Said he needed some space. I was gonna come get you pretty soon."
Steve nods, squares his shoulders, and heads for the elevator. "I'll be back soon. I hope."
There is no telling what state Bucky will be in when he gets down there. If Bucky needs to stay in their apartment for the rest of the afternoon and evening, then so will Steve. What ever Bucky needs, that was what Steve did.
Bucky is more important than anything.
When Steve gets off the elevator, he shivers. It's too cold in the apartment. Bucky doesn't handle the cold well. Steve finds it unlikely that he'll stay somewhere that feels like an ice chest.
"Buck?" Steve calls, snagging his jacket off the back of the couch where he left it. "You here?"
Wandering back to the bedroom, he finds the source of the draft. The door to the balcony has been left open and it is twenty eight degrees outside. He steps out to find Bucky leaning against the rail, staring down at the street miles below them. His long hair is hanging loose, hiding his face, which means that Steve can't read him. His shoulders are tense though. Something was bothering him.
"When did you start smoking again?" Steve asked breezily, leaning up against the railing next to him.
Bucky smirks, not the cocky, arrogant smirk from their childhood, but the rough, barely recognizable one. "I didn't know you knew I smoked back then."
"I caught you a couple times." Bucky would either smoke at the docks or out on the fire escape. He didn't ever tell Steve because Bucky didn't want to make his asthma worse. Mrs. Barnes had told Steve so that he could keep an eye on her boy. "Just didn't ever say anything."
Bucky shrugs deeper into his coat and takes a long, slow drag from the cigarette in his right hand. Steve looks away before he can do something stupid. "I stole these from Clint."
"Can you even feel anything from those any more?"
"Not a damn thing." Bucky smirks at him, but it doesn't reach his dark, concerned eyes. "It's like drinking those three whiskeys last night. Tony was on his way to smashed, and I was there completely sober."
"It's the serum."
"No shit."
"Sorry, pal." Steve sighs. "You okay?"
"Right as rain." Bucky says, and it's too bright and airy to be real. His face falls not long after. "It was just getting to be a bit much up there, ya know. I needed some air. You can go back. You don't have to stay out here with me in the cold."
Steve makes a show of settling in against the wall. "If you're waiting out here in the cold, then so am I. Told you, I'm not going anywhere."
Bucky snorts and rolls his eyes, but the first real smile graces his face. "Thanks."
"Anytime, Bucky." He's better, he really is, but Steve knows he's never getting the friend from his childhood back. That had been a bitter pill to swallow. Bucky is getting better though, and Steve has hope that they can salvage something. Anything is better than nothing.
Bucky takes a drag from his cigarette and Steve purposely ignores the way his lips form a pout to blow the smoke back through. "So," Bucky says with an ironic smile. "I've been trying to remember Christmas."
"Okay. What have you got?"
"Just flashes." Bucky shrugs. "Snow. Lots of snow. Um, a tree. Going ice skating."
"I know which one that is." Steve offers helpfully. He tries to fight the happy grin as the memory sweeps over him. "When we were fourteen, I think, 1931, your father took you, me, and your sisters to Rockefeller plaza to go skating. You teased me the whole time because I was too unstable to stay on my skates."
Bucky giggles. Steve has to freeze in shock because he can't remember the last time he heard that sound. Since before the war at least. It's musical, rich, smooth, and raises goosebumps on his arms. It's so happy and Steve wants to cry because for just a moment, Bucky's happy. "You were so skinny. I kept thinking that you were gonna break your ass on the ice and I'd have to carry you home."
"You remember?"
"Yeah." Bucky's gazing into the sky line, but he's not seeing the New York skyscrapers. Not today's at least. There's a wet sheen in his grey-blue eyes, and Steve chokes back a sob. "I mean, I remember some of it. Um, my, ugh, sister. Yeah, she's my sister, what was her name?"
"Which one, the oldest? Long brown hair, eyes like yours, always teasing someone? That's Rebecca, but we all called her Becca. I could probably find a picture, if you want."
"Not right now." He shrugs both shoulders and crushes the cigarette under his boot. "Um, what were the others names?"
"Annie was the middle one, and Sally the youngest." Steve wants to celebrate. Bucky hasn't remembered much of his family. This is a huge step. "Sally wasn't there that day. She was still pretty young. They adored you. You remember that?"
"Yeah, I think I do." Bucky is staring into space, but there's also fine tremors beginning to snake through his body. "Why?"
Steve has been doing this for long enough to know that Bucky isn't seeing himself clearly. "You're thier big brother. You were four years older than Becca, much less the other two... you were their hero. Your dad wasn't around much after '36 and you looked out for them. You were a protective sonuvabitch."
Bucky briefly bites down on the plump swell of his bottom lip. Steve forces away the thought of how much he's always wanted to do that. This is his best friend, and he doesn't need the extra complications of Steve's feelings. Maybe, when Bucky is much much better Steve will find the guts to tell him how he really feels.
Maybe.
"Do you ever miss that part of me?" Bucky doesn't give him the chance to answer before he's rambling on. "Like when I wasn't like this. When I could stare down an entire legion of Hydra forces, or dance with every dame in the dance hall? I know you have to. He's the me you know, or knew. I don't know, it's confusing. I just, I miss him, or being him, and being enough to make you happy."
"Woah, woah, woah." Steve usually lets Bucky ramble if he wants to. Expression isn't something that comes easy to him. If he needs to talk then Steve will let him talk, but he isn't going to let Bucky poison himself either. "You make me happy. Even when you're having a bad day and snapping at everything that moves, you make me happy. Everyday, every night, without fail, because you're here. You're alive, and I don't have to do this future thing without my best friend. Do I miss the kid I grew up with? Sure, but I miss the scrawny punk you grew up with, too. I miss my mom, and your mom, and your sisters to death. I do, but we can't go back, so we've got no where to go but forward. I'm glad I've got you on my left."
Bucky looks at him open mouthed and wide eyed for just a moment. Then he moves, and Steve doesn't have a chance to think before Bucky's lips are on his lips, Bucky's hands gripping his shoulders, and every long line of him is pressed against Steve's front. Steve gasps in shock, breath leaving his lungs because Bucky is right here and Steve can feel him and hear him. He doesn't think before grabbing his waist and pulling him closer, opening his mouth and swallowing his moans. Bucky tastes like tobacco and the pumpkin pie, but he also tastes like Bucky. Perfect, damaged, and just Bucky.
Bucky is the best grenade Steve has ever thrown himself on.
Steve clings like he's afraid Bucky will slip through his fingers. Bucky's hands twist into Steve's jacket with something like desperation. His arms are full of warmth, of the solid mass that is Bucky. Steve pulls and nudges, changing the angle of Bucky's face and devouring his mouth. Steve might not have started this kiss, but he sure as hell is going to finish it.
He's got seventy years to make up for after all.
Bucky pulls away, and Steve lets him go, remembering how fragile the man in his arms is and that sometimes he just needs space. Bucky doesn't go far, his fingers don't loosen on Steve's jacket. The beginnings of a scarlet blush are beginning to creep up his cheeks though. While his arms are still locked around his waist, Steve can feel him shaking. "I'm sorry." Bucky gasps, not meeting Steve's worried gaze. "I didn't mean—I mean, I don't know what...I shouldn't have—aw, fuck."
"Bucky." Steve pulls and Bucky comes closer until Steve's lips can find his best friends friend's and press a reassuring kiss against his skin. Now that Steve has kissed him once he doesn't want to stop. Ever. "Bucky, to be perfectly honest, there are two people I've ever really wanted to kiss. One was Peggy and the other was you, and you outdate Peggy by about ten years."
Backy laughs and Steve wishes he could bottle that sound and drown in it. It's better than the most beautiful piece of music he's ever heard and it breaks him as much as it rebuilds him. He's smiling when Bucky looks up and his eyes are brighter than Steve can ever remember seeing them and he's bone deep, bubbling happy. Steve will do whatever it takes to make this man smile for the rest of his life.
"When I told you I was with you until the end of the line, I was just trying to say I love you."
Steve laughs because what else do you do when your best friend admits to being in love with you for seventy years? Bucky pulls him down, smothers his laugh with his lips.
Their both lost and both found.
Both coming home on a cold December night.