Author's note: Another Barnes Christmas memory! If you've been reading 'We Were Soldiers' you'll know how good Bucky is with kids—he's had lots of practise!
21. Toy Soldiers
"Bucky, Bucky, wake up, it's Chris-mus!"
Bucky groaned as the world's most energetic three-year-old jumped up and down on his bed and, by extension, on Bucky himself.
"Wake up wake up wake up!" Charlie demanded.
"I'm awake!" he replied, turning over in bed and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Daylight filtered in through curtains already pulled open by Charlie, and by the brightness outside Bucky could tell that it had snowed a whole lot more overnight. "What time is it?" he grumbled.
"Chris-mus o'clock!"
"That's not a time, pipsqueak." He raised his voice and shouted, "What time is it?" to anyone close enough to hear.
"Eight," his dad called back from the master bedroom next door. "Almost."
Stifling a yawn, Bucky sat up and pushed Charlie off his bed. Sharing a room with a three year old was tiring even when he wasn't sleepy from late night Mass, but at least the worst would soon be over. Eventually Charlie would grow up enough to find something more constructive to do with his excess energy. When Janet was old enough to sleep in a bed, Mary-Ann would have to share a room with her, and live with all the joys of a hyperactive toddler. Hopefully Janet would be less excitable than Charlie.
As Bucky dragged himself out of bed and dressed in his second-best shirt and pants, Charlie ran downstairs in his nightclothes. His cries of excitement over presents discovered beneath the Christmas tree reached Bucky's ears and drew a smile across his face. When he stepped out of his room, Mary-Ann pipped him to the top of the staircase; she looked as tired as he felt, but there was an excitement in her eyes that even tiredness couldn't hide. She skipped down the steps, her fingers deftly tying the string of her pinafore at the small of her back.
Halfway down the stairs, the smell of Mom's cooking hit Bucky like a delicious punch to the gut. Oatmeal sweetened with syrup, fried bacon, sizzling tomatoes… how'd she manage to get fresh tomatoes in the middle of winter? He shook his head. Wasn't important. The only thing that mattered was how great it would all taste.
In the living room, the Christmas tree was alive with small candles burning merrily on the ends of the strongest branches, and a large pile of neatly wrapped presents had been stacked around the trunk. Atop the tree, a homemade angel presided over the entire room, her wings made of soft white feathers and her halo sparkly as diamonds.
"Bucky, Mary-Ann, please keep your brother from tearing apart all those gifts," his mother called from the kitchen.
"I want presents from Santa," Charlie sulked, his bottom lip coming out.
"Well, you'll just have to wait, won't you?" Mary-Ann countered. Charlie, being three, ignored her more grown-up logic and made a grab for the pile of gifts, so Bucky picked him up and carried him to the couch, where he couldn't do as much damage. "Mom, can I give Janet her bottle?" Mary-Ann asked.
"I fed her already this morning, but you can hold her till I'm done with breakfast," Mom called back.
Bucky watched his sister head over to the crib, where Janet was quietly sucking away on her pacifier. Mary-Ann was obsessed with the baby, always wanting to pick her up, sing to her, feed her… Bucky thought his youngest sister was rather boring. All she did was sleep, and drink milk, and cry, and sick up. At least Charlie had got past vomiting all the time and could now do fun things, like nearly catch a ball, and one time he'd accidentally slid into home base by tripping over his own feet.
"Merry Christmas, kids," said Dad, descending the stairs as he clipped his tie to his shirt. He looked smart in his steam-pressed suit, but then again, he always looked smart. There were some things in life a man couldn't control, he'd told Bucky, but his appearance wasn't one of them.
"Merry Christmas, Dad," Bucky and Mary-Ann chorused.
"Merry Chris-mus Dada" Charlie cooed, before attempting to squirm out of his brother's arms to reach the presents.
When Dad disappeared into the kitchen, Mary-Ann gave Bucky a conspiratorial grin and nodded to the pile of presents. "Bet that one's mine," she said, indicating the largest.
"Bet that's Charlie's," he countered. "Bet that's yours, the one with the pink ribbon."
"Naw, I bet that's Mom's present from Dad."
"They're all my presents," said Charlie. "From Santa." The toddler hadn't really grasped the concept of sharing, yet, and he was going to be in for a surprise when he learnt the presents weren't all really for him.
"Breakfast's ready!" Mom called from the kitchen, and not a moment too soon. Bucky's stomach was growling so loud that Mr. Peterson could probably hear it from next door.
Mary-Ann returned Janet to her crib, and Bucky wrestled Charlie into the kitchen. Dad had already loaded his plate with toast and bacon and fried tomatoes so juicy that their skins were falling off them. Mom took command of Charlie, throwing aside her grease-spattered apron.
"But I want presents!" Charlie moaned, when he was given a plate of food.
"Eat your breakfast first," said Dad. "Then you can have presents."
Charlie looked like he was about to argue, but a stern glance from Dad closed his mouth swiftly enough. Bucky helped himself to oatmeal and toast, his mouth practically watering at the smell of the bacon. Mom always said 'manners maketh man', so he forced himself to eat slowly, to appear calm and grown up, even when Mary-Ann's gaze challenged him to the last fried tomato up for grabs in the dish. At the last minute, Dad swooped in to spear the tomato with his fork, leaving Bucky and his sister pretending they hadn't just been racing their breakfast to grab the last morsel.
"We'll be going to the Carol Service at midday," Dad said as he sipped his coffee and glanced over yesterday's newspaper.
Bucky waited patiently, fingers interlocked in front of him on the table so he couldn't tap, or fidget, or toy with his spoon while he waited for his father to finish the morning pleasantries. Dad had no patience for impatience.
"I spoke with Mrs. Rogers yesterday," Mom said. "She and Steve are going to meet us at the corner of their block."
Dad nodded, and Bucky grinned as his sister blushed. Mary-Ann had the world's biggest crush on Steve, and poor Steve was completely oblivious. Bucky was just waiting for the right moment to drop the revelation on his best friend… so he could tease both of them about it for the rest of their lives.
"Momma, I'm not hungry anymore," Charlie said, pushing his plate of half-eaten toast away. "Can I have presents from Santa now?"
Mom looked to Dad, who gave the tiniest of nods. Bucky's heart nearly leapt right out of his chest, and Bucky himself from his chair. Mary-Ann was quicker; she was in the living room while Bucky was still affecting an air of grown-up nonchalance.
The most exciting part of Christmas wasn't getting presents, having new things to play with and wear—although those ranked a close second and third, in Bucky's mind. The most exciting part of Christmas was that moment when he held a present in his hands, the moment before pulling off the ribbon and the paper, that moment of possibility, when the present could have been anything. There was nothing he liked more than that moment of excitement and anticipation, and where Mary-Ann preferred to tear through her gifts in one frenzy of unwrapping, Bucky took his time with his, drawing out the unwrapping of each present to make the excitement last as long as possible, savouring each moment.
Mary-Ann was waiting cross-legged beside the Christmas tree, an expression of unrestrained impatience etched across her face.
"I was right," she grinned, as Bucky joined her, and Mom and Dad brought Charlie from the kitchen. She held up the large box, showing him the name-tag which had 'To Mary-Ann, Love From Mom & Dad' written on it. "Mom, can I open this first?"
"Sure Annie, just give your brothers a chance to keep up with you."
His sister didn't listen. She'd gone through the large present (a new dress folded in a box — "It's amazing, I love it!") and two smaller gifts (a doll — "So adorable!" and a tin of soft candied fruits — "My favourite!") whilst Charlie had just opened his first (a new pair of shoes — "I 'ate shoes!") and Bucky was waiting for the suspense of his first present to build. It turned out to be a new winter hat, thick woollen gloves and a matching scarf. The tiny slip of paper attached to the hat said 'made in Santa's workshop' but the knitting looked suspiciously like the woollen jumpers his mother insisted on making every year.
"Oh, I hope I get a new hat and gloves, too!" said Mary-Ann, looking wistfully at his first gift whilst clutching a new hardback copy of 'The Voyages of Doctor Dolittle'.
"I 'ate hats," said Charlie.
"Hurry up Bucky, we only have two hours until Carol Service!" Mary-Ann wheedled.
"You don't have to wait for me to open mine, you know," he told her. "You still have three or four you haven't demolished yet."
"But I want to see what you get!"
"Ooh look what I got!" Charlie cooed happily. He pulled a stuffed bear from its wrapping paper and hugged it to his chest. "Santa brought me a teddy bear."
"Santa brought me a teddy bear when I was three as well," Bucky told his brother. "I still have him, too. What are you gonna call your bear?"
"Benny!"
"You can't call him Benny. Mine's called Benny."
"Buddy!"
"I like Buddy," Mary-Ann nodded. "Buddy can be invited to Miss Milly's tea party." She held up her new doll, and Bucky grinned. She was all teddies-and-tea-parties now, but as soon as Steve came over, she'd pretend like the dolls weren't even hers.
As the unopened pile of colourfully wrapped presents dwindled, the pile of open gifts grew. Both Mary-Ann and Charlie got new hats, scarves and gloves to match Bucky's, but where his were dark blue, his sister's were white, and Charlie's dark green. Charlie got several books of nursery rhymes, another new pair of shoes, a pull-along wagon, several small toy cars and a wooden cavalry set. A colourful flower-patterned coin bank joined Mary-Ann's pile, whilst Bucky got a bag of shiny new marbles, a new baseball bat and a Rawlings pitcher's glove, a tin of boiled sweets, a gyroscope and a tinker construction kit.
"Last presents left!" Mary-Ann said, reaching for the last three under the tree. One present apiece, the same shape and size, differing only in their paper and name tags. "C'mon Charlie, stop playing with Buddy, we should open our last presents together."
Charlie clutched his new bear to his chest and accepted the present from Mary-Ann. Despite her 'togetherness' sentiment, she was first to tear off her paper, revealing a bag of nuts and a wooden nutcracker in the form of a soldier with a red jacket.
"What is it?" Charlie asked, when he'd pulled out his own green-coated wooden soldier.
"A nutcracker," Bucky told his brother. He held up his own, which was like the others, only with a blue coat. "Here, you do this." He put a nut in the nutcracker's mouth and pushed down the lever on the wooden back. The hazelnut shell split neatly open, and the nut fell out.
Charlie gave it a try, but his chubby little hands couldn't generate enough force to crack the nut. His bottom lip came out again, and he looked like he was about to burst into tears. "Mine's broken!"
"Here, let me do it for you," Bucky said, cracking the nut so Charlie could see his toy really did work. "It's just that your fingers are too little to work it properly. Don't worry, I'll help you 'til you're bigger."
His little brother nodded solemnly, then pointed to the new baseball mitt. "Can I try your glove on?"
"Sure you can. You wear it like this." He put the glove on his brother's left hand and fastened it as tightly as the glove would go. It was comically large at the end of Charlie's arm. Mary-Ann grinned, and even Dad chuckled at the sight.
"It'll be a couple of years yet before we get you in the outfield, son."
"I wanna be a pitcher, like Bucky," Charlie complained.
"I'll teach you how to pitch when you're older, squirt," Bucky told his brother.
"How old?"
"I dunno… five?" Five seemed a good age to learn how to properly throw a ball.
"When can I be five?"
"In another two Christmases."
"But first," Dad said, "we've got Carol Service. Take some of these toys up to your room before they get stood on and broken."
"Bucky, will you help carry my toys to my room?" Charlie asked, clutching his new Buddy-Bear to his chest.
Bucky smiled at his little brother. "Of course I will."