Until the twenty minute walk between the tailor and the pub, Bucky didn't regret giving the coat to his neighbor. Once he was lightly frosted with snowflakes, he wondered whether it was really the right thing to do.

"Why're you walking so damn slow?" He grumbled, rubbing his hands together to wake his fingers. It didn't really work, his metal arm was basically frozen. The fingers were getting worryingly slow to respond.

"Aren't you supposed to be a native? I thought y'all were born cold blooded up in the Great White North," Sam teased, patting Bucky's back... His muscles were so tense that the light hits still hurt a little. He wouldn't admit it, though.

"The Great White North is Canada, but nice try," Bucky deflected, stepping faster once he saw their destination.

Sam retorted with something that was probably clever, but by that time Bucky was too focused to hear him. He slipped into the pub and sighed in relief the moment that he was enveloped in warmth. When Sam found him again, Bucky was perched on a bar stool as close to a heating vent as he could get. He'd already ordered them two beers.

"It's a little early, isn't it?" Sam pointed out, taking a sip of his beer nonetheless. Bucky shrugged, setting his bottle down.

"Warms the blood, doesn't it? Us cold-bloods need to get our warmth from somewhere."

Sam chuckled. The pub was emptier than they had expected, but the building blizzard outside was most likely why. He wasn't exactly upset that they didn't have to wait for a seat, he wasn't much of a fan of crowds.

For the first twenty minutes or so, while they were waiting for their food, they were shooting the shit. They talked about the tux fitting, about each member of the Howling Commandos and how Steve changed when he was around the whole group. He seemed younger whenever they all got together, it was nice. Nowadays he was too serious, not that Bucky was a ray of sunshine most of the time.

"Well, what about you? Hm? You didn't say a word unless someone spoke to you first," Sam pointed out, stealing one of Bucky's fries in the meantime. Only reason he could get away with it was 'cause he was on the left and Bucky's metal arm was still warming up.

"I'm fine-"

"I'm fine," Sam mocked him, saying it at the exact same time. "Yeah, I know you're always fine. But fine isn't good, man."

Bucky groaned dramatically. "It's really not that deep. I don't have anything interesting going on. I'm just... I don't know, I'm always tired. Even when I'm having a good time, I'm thinking about going home and taking a nap."

Sam hummed thoughtfully. Bucky knew that hum, it was his therapy hum. That hum said 'what you just said was a problem, but I don't know how to tell you that without making you act all defensive.' Bucky braced himself for the reproaching tone that came after, but nothing happened. Instead, Sam switched subjects.

"What about the arm?" He asked, looking down at Bucky's left arm. "It still looks brand new. How does it feel?"

Finally, and easier topic. "It doesn't feel brand new," he said, lifting it and slowly rolling his wrist. "It's better than the plastic ones, don't get me wrong. I can still use it the way I need to, it's just slow to respond when the temperature drops or rises too much. Plus, I think the battery is starting to go. I don't know how to replace that, but I bet I could find someone to do it."

"You don't want to give that to just anybody, Bucky. You should get Steve to talk to Stark about it, he's the one who gave you the damn thing in the first place."

Bucky wrinkled his brows, uncomfortable with the idea of having to ask Steve for something like that. It wasn't even that big of a deal, the arm lasted two full years and it was only an early prototype. He hadn't had a single complaint until recently and he was pretty sure it'd last another two years before he really had to get a new one. He could save up for one of the newer arms that Stark is selling by then. Sam tried his best to convince Bucky that he could just ask Sam, but that was already his decided course of action.

Once the obligatory prying was over, Sam let him relax. He knew how stressed talking could make Bucky and most of the time he just... let him be. As long as Bucky was eating right, his apartment was clean, and he didn't miss any of his therapy appointments then he couldn't be too bad, right?

At least, that's what Bucky did his best to make him believe.

"I'll see you on Friday, right? You're not gonna flake out on us?" Sam asked, shrugging his coat back on once they were ready to leave.

"I can't flake out, the whole thing's in my apartment," Bucky pointed out, laying down a twenty dollar bill for the tip. Sam raised his eyebrow but said nothing about the amount. That was close to a seventy-five percent tip.

"You never know. James Buchanan Barnes is a crafty one." Bucky pursed his lips, particularly unamused by Sam's joke. "Alright, fine. I've got to get to work anyway, you sour ass. Take care of yourself 'til Friday, got it?"

He clapped Bucky on the back and walked away without another word. Bucky watched the door shut before he pulled out his phone. It had vibrated three times during their lunch, and he wasn't in the mood to discuss that with Sam.

Two Text Messages from: Rebecca B.

One Voicemail from: Rebecca B.

Becca was nothing if not persistent. He read the messages while he walked to the nearest subway station.

Rebecca B.: Is now a good time? I have to talk to you.

Rebecca B.: It's either me or Mom, Jimmy. I'm trying to save you the grief, I swear.

As much as he didn't like it, Becca was right. She was a lot easier to talk to than their mother. At least she didn't pry when he clearly didn't want to talk about something. He waited until he found his seat on the train to listen to the voicemail.

"Hey, Jimmy. I know you're probably busy doing whatever it is hermits do, but you've really got to call Mom at some point. She's worried about you and the more you avoid her, the more that the rest of us have to hear about it.

"Plus... you know, we're worried about you too. I haven't heard from you since Thanksgiving and even then it was just through texts. I hope you're planning on coming home for Christmas. If Winnie's coming all the way from California, you can get here from Manhattan. Plus, I already got your present and I'd really like to see the face you make when you're trying to be nice about your disappointment.

"Oh! And bring Steve too. Unless he's visiting Peggy's family for the holidays.

"Call me back whenever you listen to this, okay? Love you."

Bucky listened to the voicemail one more time before even attempting to type out a message to his sister. He wasn't even sure that he had anything to say.

He finally managed a somewhat adequate reply.

To Rebecca B.: Sorry I missed your call, can't call back now. I don't know if I come home, but I'll try my best. Things are moving pretty fast at the moment, just trying to catch up. I'll call you soon and I'll do my best to catch Winnie before she flies back, I promise.

He could already hear her reaction, the exasperation wasn't exactly hard to predict. But what was he supposed to do? He was already exhausted, pretending to be okay for the whole Christmas break would wipe him out. He was already run ragged by having to plan Steve's bachelor party.

The bachelor party was going to happen on Friday 'cause the wedding was on January 5th and the holidays made it impossible for most of the wedding party to attend any time closer to the wedding. Frenchy even had a daughter and a wife to spend Christmas with.

As per Steve's request, it was going to be a relaxing night. Bucky wasn't exactly a fan of having strippers in his apartment, so that made him feel better about hosting in the first place. They were going to be drinking good liquor and playing cards the whole night, just like they'd do when they were sitting around in the muck waiting for a mission. The only difference was that Sam would be there too... and they'd have a bathroom to use.

Bucky was actually looking forward to it despite the nerves he had about so many people being in his space at the same time. When his post-nightmare-insomnia would strike, most nights as of late, he'd spend hours cleaning and rearranging his furniture.

It was hard to admit that just the thought of one night with his closest friends could overwhelm him so easily. He was supposed to be stronger than that.

When the train stopped, he shook off that thought and instead tried to think of what he could get his sisters and his mother for Christmas. He knew that Becca liked candles and the color yellow. Soph would probably like something for her cat, maybe a toy or one of those stupid outfits that she put the poor animal in. Winnie was a mystery to him, just like she'd always been. She was the chaotic sister, the one that went to California instead of staying in the area like the rest of the family. The art student. He'd have to ask Becca what to get her. He'd inherited their father's tendency to give absolutely terrible gifts.

He spent the rest of the walk home laughing to himself at the memory of when their father had given them all matching Muppet-themed pajamas. He wasn't even sure what the thought was behind that, none of them had ever been massive fans of the Muppets in the first place.

Thinking about his father always hurt a little bit, but it was getting easier. The man had died when Bucky was overseas, he'd gotten a short reprieve to attend the funeral but without Steve there... well, he'd spent the whole time being strong for his mother and his sisters. He didn't get to grieve until after he was home and by then there was too much to grieve for him to process it all. His dad, his arm, his health...

He was forced to shake out of that thought too, thankful to finally come back to his front door. The doorman was sat behind the front desk with his feet up, watching something on his phone. He didn't look up when Bucky passed him.

Bucky made it to the elevator before the guy spoke up. "Hey, Nine E! You've got a coat back here," He called out, sitting up and pulling out the peacoat he'd given the neighbor earlier. He nodded, collecting it and folding it over his metal arm before walking back to the elevator and climbing on.

Once the doors closed, he examined the coat. There was a receipt for a sandwich in the pocket and a long strand of brown hair on the collar. When he folded it again, he caught a wave of something floral... and maybe peaches? He chuckled, though he wasn't quite sure why.

The elevator stopped on his floor and he stepped off, already back to thinking about what he had to do before Friday rolled around. Maybe he should get something like those fancy cheese platters his mom always got for parties... He was so busy considering the food he'd serve that he almost tripped over the back of Chinese food sat at his front door.

He picked it up and glanced inside to find a note scrawled on the back of the receipt:

Sorry about your soup. Thought I'd pay you back for that and the coat. Also sorry about the coat.

- Natasha, 8E.
(from the elevator)

He folded the note into his pocket and unlocked the door. After putting away the food and hanging up the coat, Bucky dropped onto the couch like a bag of stones. There was always so much to do...

He decided that he would allow himself 20 minutes to relax. So, he unattached his arm and set it to charge, returning to the couch a moment later so that he could kick up his feet.

Three hours he woke up in complete darkness to someone knocking on his door.