Chapter 17: Ghosts of Christmas Present

Winter was now in full swing, ice and flurries coating nearly every surface and winds cutting through any gaps it could find. The temperature was well below freezing, and the days were short and dark. And yet, two people braved the elements, walking down the empty streets away from the city centre. Mika was in layers upon layers, dressed in an attempt to keep at least some of her body heat trapped. She was huddled against the wind, any spare bit of skin covered. Bucky, of course, was in his trusty jeans and boots, with a slightly heavier coat on than he'd been using a few weeks prior.

"How are you not dying right now?" she asked as they entered the apartment building, her voice muffled by her scarf. She pulled it under her chin, eyeing him as he shook the precipitation from his boots before starting up the stairs.

"It's not too bad. Been through-" he started to give his usual answer, but was interrupted by Mika's playful sarcasm.

"Yea yea yea, you've been through worse. You're a badass, I know." she said, giving him a grin. He lifted one corner of his mouth and gave her a shrug.

"Can't help it." he replied, his voice barely colored with a cheeky tone. He'd been using that tone more and more over the past week or two, she noticed.

"Are you part bear? Be honest. Don't lie to me." she asked, making her face as serious as she could. She was getting a little winded, walking up all these stairs with an extra fifteen pounds of clothing on her. It limited her ability to render any sort of severity to her statement.

"Wouldn't dream of it." he answered, his face looking like he was sharing an inside joke with himself. "But no, I am not part bear."

She stared at him from the corner of her eye, trying to figure out what his little expressions and mannerism meant. For a brief moment, she actually entertained the thought that he was lying to her and was, in fact, some sort of chimera. She shook the idea from her head, and instead just said, "I believe it. You're not near hairy enough. Maybe like, halfway."

He gave her the closest thing she'd heard to an actual laugh from him, shaking his head. She analyzed his face for a second, trying to take in the features underneath his baseball cap and stubble. "What?" he asked, nervous under her gaze.

"I'm trying to imagine how you would look clean shaven. And with shorter hair." she said honestly, though she couldn't imagine Bucky like that. She had the distinct feeling that he would look about a decade younger, which might be one of the reasons he kept the beard. He gave the same brief laugh as before, his eyebrows disappearing under the bill of his cap.

"Hopefully very different." he answered, which was an odd way to word it. He was also doing that more and more she noticed, giving remarks to her that didn't quite sound correct. She was tempted to think it was something getting lost in translation, but considering how perfect his Romanian usually was, that didn't seem right. One day she was going to ask him about it, but not today. He almost seemed comfortable with her at this point, and she didn't want to jeopardize that.

"Do any pictures exist? Of a fresh faced Bucky?" she asked as they reached the landing to the top floor. He shook his head.

"Not recent ones." he said, again making that expression like there was a joke that she didn't get. She gave him the most vicious scowl she could manage.

"Fine. Guess that means we'll just have to shave you and give you a fresh haircut one of these days." she said, unlocking the door to her apartment and gesturing for him to come inside. The look on his face was completely alarmed, making her dissolve into giggles that she quickly tried to smother with her hands. He hesitated, as he always did, before following her into her apartment. She held a finger to her lips, though she wasn't sure why - she figured that quiet was pretty much a character trait for him at this point. He stood very still in her kitchen as she tip-toed across the apartment, closing the door to her bedroom. Her sister was still fast asleep in her bed, her internal clock still set an hour behind them.

"Is someone in there?" Bucky asked quietly as Mika began removing her layers and depositing them in a pile next to her door. His posture had changed ever so slightly so he was standing up straighter, his feet turned more towards the door.

"My sister's visiting for the holidays. Don't worry, she sleeps like a rock." she replied, the last of her winter gear falling to the floor. He gazed at her for a few moments longer before he visibly relaxed, taking his seat at the island as she went to turn the coffee maker on. She cut thick slices of bread again and put them in the toaster, as had been her habit the past couple weeks. She slid the usual condiments onto the counter, the jars bumping into a big book. Bucky eyed it; it hadn't been here last weekend.

"What's this?" he asked, gesturing to the book. Mika gave a dry laugh as the coffee maker sputtered and filled the floral mug.

"Simple Recipes. Nicoletta bought it as a joke since apparently I'm a danger to myself or others if I have to do anything besides bake." she said, sliding the book closer to him. "I've already failed the first two recipes, so I'm pretty ready to give up on it. Do you cook?"

"I haven't. But it may not be a bad idea." he said, surprising her with his answer. Somehow, she had difficulty picturing him in the kitchen, flamboyantly sauteing vegetables or dramatically flipping pancakes. She suddenly had a great mental image of him dressed in a chef's coat and hat, glaring at his fellow competitors on one of her theatrical cooking shows, and had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. Bucky gave her a vaguely curious look, but didn't question her. Maybe she pulled it off.

"You can borrow it, if you like. I'm not too keen on trying any more of it, and it'll give me an excuse not to." she said as he flipped through the pages, the high resolution photos of different foods gleaming in her kitchen lights. His eyes flicked up to hers at that moment, his hand pausing on the page.

"Are you sure?" he asked, seemingly surprised by her offer. His thumb was moving just slightly over the corner of the page - a nervous tell? No, he must just still be thinking of turning it. Bucky didn't have nervous tells.

"Absolutely." she said, sliding her own cup of coffee to the other side of the island before putting their toast on a plate and putting it between them. She took her normal seat on top of the island, spreading a generous helping of jam over one of the pieces. He turned a few more pages, taking in the colorful pictures and reading over the methods before turning his attention to breakfast.

"Thank you." he said, carefully closing the book and pushing it to the side before picking up a slice of bread and applying a thin coat of butter. She noticed he didn't hesitate anymore when she gave him something to eat or drink, at least not visibly; any trepidation he had about her poisoning him was undetectable.

Even if she had vowed not to pry into his personal life, she did have one question burning inside. She went back and forth with herself, trying to build up the courage to ask him. What was the phrase, curiosity killed the cat? But then she remembered that the second half was that satisfaction brought it back. He sat quietly next to her, thoughtfully chewing on his toast as if the bread she made was the best thing he'd ever tasted. With a deep breath, she decided to take the plunge.

"What are your plans for Christmas this week?" she asked, trying to keep her voice light and casual. She quickly took a bite of toast so that she would have something to do with her hands, and to keep herself from rambling and asking any more curiosity questions. She'd bought him just a little gift - nothing big - and had been hesitant to give it to him. His brows furrowed for a moment, considering her inquiry.

"Nothing." he said after a moment. "That's this week?"

Mika internally smacked herself across the face. How could she just assume that Bucky celebrated Christmas? It was a relatively common practice, yes, but that didn't necessarily mean that everyone partook in the festivities. Looks like her Christmas gift to him was quickly going to shift into a thank you gift.

"On Thursday." she said, trying her damnedest to hide her chagrin at the situation. This was why she shouldn't ask personal questions. She somehow always managed to ask the wrong ones. Bucky, however, looked unphased.

"Oh. Guess that's why they gave us a couple nights off." he said. He seemed to be more concerned about missing work than missing a holiday. "I haven't had a Christmas in a long time." he added, his eyes focusing on the middle distance. He was wherever he went in his head when he was trying to remember something. Mika's heart broke a little, and once again she found herself wondering what awful things Bucky had been through in the past however many years. She wanted nothing more than to give him a happy Christmas.

"Well you are more than welcome to come spend it with us." she offered. Her mother would kill her for the impulsive invite, but she didn't care. She prepared her second piece of toast so she didn't have to look at him and give away how shy she felt asking this. "If you don't mind dealing with my passive-aggressive mother and a couple of wine-drunk girls. I promise, we can be very entertaining."

One corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile, but he shook his head. "I appreciate the offer, but I think I'll just spend a quiet night in. I have a project now." he replied, tapping the cookbook next to his arm. Her heart fell a little at the gentle rejection; in the six seconds between her question and his answer, she'd grown very fond of the idea of Bucky joining them for the holiday. If anyone could shut her mother down once she got started on a verbal tirade, it'd be him. She shook off the feelings, thinking that maybe next year he'd change his mind.

"Well if it turns out good, you'll have to let me sample it then." she said, gesturing with her last bit of bread. She scooted the plate closer to him, trying to get him to take the last piece.

"Deal." he said quietly, reaching for the toast and covering it with butter. She took the opportunity to hop off the counter, going towards her bedroom.

"Since I probably won't see you before then, let me get your Christmas present." she said, just catching his startled look before ducking into her room. The light was just beginning to seep through the windows, and her sister yawned loudly and stretched as she entered.

"So you really get up this early and go work out?" she mumbled. "I thought you were lying."

"I never lie." Mika replied, going to her dresser and grabbing the wrapped package sitting on top. "And Bucky's still here, so if you come out make sure you dress somewhat appropriate."

Her sister gasped dramatically. "A man? In my sister's apartment? I'm telling mother." she said, pushing the covers off herself and sitting up, her hair tangled at all angles. Mika rolled her eyes, throwing a somewhat clean flannel at her.

"Just don't be embarrassing." she said, turning back to the door.

"You do that enough on your own." Nicoletta replied, laying back down for a moment as her sister walked out. Mika closed the door behind her, not bothering to be quiet this time.

"You didn't have to get me anything." Bucky said immediately as she entered the kitchen. She could tell he felt uncomfortable with the idea, and she did her best to play it off. He was standing now, apparently too concerned by the idea of a present that he couldn't stay seated.

"It's not a big deal, really. It was something you needed." she said, presenting him with the package. He took it gingerly, as if he were afraid it was going to break - or explode. He hesitated for a long time, his eyes flicking between her and the present. "Go on, open it." she insisted, picking up their dishes and moving them to the sink to wash. This gave her a distraction, as well as pulled her attention from Bucky. She heard him carefully tear the paper and open the box underneath it, revealing…

"Sweatpants?" he asked, holding up the heather grey trousers.

"Yep. I guessed on the size, so the receipt's in there. And if you don't like them, it won't hurt my feelings. I just figured you could use a pair." she explained. She clamped her mouth shut, trying to prevent any more unnecessary rambling. She finally turned to see that he was smiling - a real, genuine smile.

"I like them. Thank you." he said, folding them back into the box so they were in a neat little package again.

"You're very welcome. I hope they're comfortable." she replied, her heart glowing at his response. It was very risky, getting Bucky a gift. But it had paid off.

"I'm afraid I didn't get you anything." he said, wincing slightly. She waved him off, giving him a pointed look.

"Don't worry about it. I saw them while I was out and had to get them for you. Christmas was really just the excuse I needed to buy them." she said. Again, she pressed her lips together to make herself shut up. Why did she always have to overexplain things? She leaned her elbows on the island counter, trying to seem calm.

"Thank you." he said again, the look he was giving her making a blush rise into her cheeks. Luckily she was saved by any further chances of self embarrassment by her sister slipping out of her bedroom, her hair a little more tamed and her face a little more awake.

"Good morning." she sang, giving them a bright smile. She pulled up the sleeve of her oversized flannel, offering her hand to Bucky. "I'm Nicoletta, Mika's sister."

"Bucky. Nice to meet you." he said, gently shaking her hand. She smiled again, turning to Mika and raising her eyebrows in a suggestive manner when she thought he couldn't see. Mika sent a glare her way, willing her sister to be normal just this once. Nicoletta stuck her tongue out, going to the refrigerator.

"Have you eaten yet? I make very good omelettes." she said, gathering supplies from its depths.

"We just finished eating, but thank you." he answered, giving her his polite smile. He was still standing at the corner of the island, the box and the cookbook stacked in front of him. Mika could tell that he was just a little uneasy, and the fact that he wasn't fleeing was probably only because it was her sister. Nicoletta, however, was completely oblivious.

"You ate without me?" she exclaimed, turning to her sister with her hands on her hips. Mika perked and eyebrow, gesturing with her head towards the stove and the coffee maker.

"You're a big girl. You can make your own breakfast." she said, her sister making a face at her response. She said something in German that Mika didn't understand, but made Bucky let out a brief huff of a laugh. Mika and Nicoletta both looked to him at that moment, not expecting him to understand. Nicoletta asked him a question - Mika presumed it was something along the lines of you speak German? - to which he replied in the affirmative. Her sister's face lit up and she chattered excitedly, making suspicious glances and expressions in Mika's direction. Bucky answered her with a mischievous grin, his voice a little lower as he spoke in the other language.

"Okay, I don't like this. I feel like you're talking about me." Mika interrupted, gesturing between the two of them.

"Oh, because we are." her sister said, finally switching back to a language she could understand.

"I hate you." she breathed out before turning her glares to Bucky. "And you, mister. Thin. Ice."

He held up his hands in innocence. "Nothing bad. Promise." he replied, the pitch of his voice changing ever so slightly as he switched back to Romanian.

"Uh huh. Make sure it stays that way." she said, giving her sister a stern look. Bucky collected his new things from the counter, backing towards the door.

"I make no promises." Nicoletta sang, sending a conspiratory look to Bucky. Did he wink? She could have sworn he winked. She shook her head, getting her thoughts in order. Bucky was not someone who winked.

"At that, I'll take my leave. Thank you for breakfast, and these." he said softly, shyly holding up the box and the book. He held everything carefully, as if he were afraid to break them. She did notice, however, that he was using his left hand as well. He'd been using it more and more over the past couple weeks, and she wondered what had changed to make him more comfortable with it. She couldn't ask, of course. But she was definitely curious.

"Of course! Have a happy Christmas, Bucky." Mika said, giving him a smile and a wave.

"You too." he replied, his hand on the doorknob. He wasn't holding the tension between his shoulders anymore, his posture back to being as relaxed as she'd ever seen it.

"Nice to meet you!" Nicoletta chimed in, giving him a playful grin. He said something to her in German again, which Mika assumed was some form of you as well, before letting himself out. The door closed silently, leaving the two sisters alone.

"I hate you." Mika reiterated, glaring at her with as much malice as she could muster. Which really, wasn't much. Her sister blew a kiss in her direction, going about making her omelette.

"Relax, I'm sure your friend doesn't think any less of you just because your little sister poked a little fun at you." she said, humming as she mixed her ingredients with ease. She pulled out Mika's little-used pan, setting it on the counter.

"You know I hate when you talk in languages I don't understand. It makes me feel stupid." Mika pointed out, crossing her arms over her chest in a defensive move.

"To be fair, you have done the same thing to me." Nicoletta said, pointing at her with a spatula. Mika rolled her eyes.

"That was one time, and it was for work." she reminded her. Her sister made an unamused noise, dropping toppings into the pan.

"Still counts." she said, glaring at her sister from the corner of her eye. Mika sighed.

"It's Christmas. I never see you. Let's not fight." she offered, opening her arms for a hug. Nicoletta happily moved into her embrace, squeezing her waist.

"Let's not. Now, if you wanted a fight, then you should think about the one you and Mum would've had if Bucky had accepted your invitation." she said, making Mika try and crush her with her arms. She squealed, fighting for a moment before yelling about how her breakfast was going to burn. With a laugh, Mika let her go, going to make herself some more coffee.

In the hallway, Bucky took a moment to gather his thoughts. He initially planned to go straight to the grocery store, but now he needed to make a quick stop at his apartment. He still felt an odd warmth behind his sternum that arose when Mika had presented him with the gift; he didn't quite understand the feeling, but he figured it had something to do with affection. He smiled to himself, running his thumb over the paper that still clung to the box. He hadn't received a Christmas present since 1942.

Nicoletta was, at first glance, very different from her sister. Her hair fell in long, honey waves as opposed to Mika's straight coffee-colored locks. Her face was a little rounder, her edges a little softer. She wasn't as tall as her sister, nor as muscular. In fact, Bucky had a hard time seeing the resemblance until they both smiled. Their smile was very similar, and their laughter just as comparable. They also did the same hand motions when talking excitedly about something, and had the same intonations when they spoke. It had been a long time since he'd been in such close proximity to siblings, and honestly it was a little fascinating. He wondered if he'd ever see the two of them together again like that.

After he got groceries and returned home, he eyed the box and the book on his counter. He removed his gloves and carefully untied his boots before slipping them off, putting them in their spot next to the mattress. He removed his jeans, folding them and placing them next to the boots. They were still clean enough for another wear. He carefully pulled his new pants from the box, the cotton fabric soft against the calluses of his hand. It was even softer on the inside; after months of wearing nothing but jeans, it felt rather indulgent to have such comfortable clothing. He gave a few experimental movements of his legs, then sunk into the half-pigeon pose that had been giving him such trouble for the past couple weeks. Ah, yes. Much less pinching.

Satisfied with both the practicality and comfort of his new clothes (he made a mental note to tell Mika she was right), he stood up and picked up the cookbook from the counter. He didn't recognize most of the recipes, but they seemed simple enough (as the title suggested). The ones he could identify were ones he'd tried with Mika at the cafe down the street. His biggest obstacle, he realized, was that he didn't own any kitchen utensils. In fact, he wasn't exactly sure how to operate his stove or his oven. That would have to be step one. He thought about going next door and asking Mika for instruction, but he didn't want to be a bother; the appliance was electric, so he didn't have to worry about any incidences with a gas line. He could figure it out on his own.

He sat down on the floor, easily folding his legs underneath him thanks to his new outerwear. He pulled his journal and pen from the depths of his backpack and started carefully thumbing through the pages of the book. He didn't want to keep it from her longer than he had to, figuring that she would want her possessions back eventually. Any recipes that looked simple or tasty, he copied down into his journal. That way, he'd always have a version of it, even if he didn't have the book.

The apartment next door was quiet over the next few days, and Bucky figured that the two sisters had gone home to see their mother. In fact, the entire city seemed a little emptier than usual, the businesses closing early due to the holiday. He finally built up the determination to visit the thrift shop down the street in search of kitchen equipment, but found it closed when he arrived, a handwritten note on the door stating that the store would not be open for the next two days. He let out an annoyed breath, and figured he might as well start his nightly perimeter check a little early. Most of the businesses had similar signs on their doors, the insides quiet and dark as the night outside. The houses were either empty and silent, or had muffled sounds of holiday mirth echoing to the sidewalk.

Bucky continued his rounds, the peaceful night actually allowing him enough tranquility to admire the lights and decorations. Normally he would encounter another pedestrian or two on the streets, but tonight they were empty. Empty, that is, until he turned onto the street with the large church. He knew it was well past one o'clock in the morning, but people were pouring from its doors, laughing and babbling as they moved quickly through the cold night air. He inconspicuously settled onto a bench, adopting a casual position and keeping a watchful eye as everyone passed by him. It must be Christmas Eve, he realized. He'd forgotten that the Catholic church would have services tonight.

When the streets finally emptied, he stood and continued on his trek. He paused in front of the church, staring up at its spire as vague memories of Christmas pasts danced like ghosts in his brain. He remembered going with his family, and with Steve and his mother. He remembered there came a time when it was just him and Steve. Usually it would snow on Christmas Eve, but tonight the sky was cold and clear. The stars wanted to shine, glad to have a night free from the thick cloud coverage, but they were muted by the lights from the city. The door to the church opened again, and Bucky immediately prepared to flee. But it was not another deluge of church goers; no, this time it was a solitary older man in a black suit, the white of his collar shining in the darkness.

"You can come inside. It's warmer." he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets and pressing his arms to the sides of his body in an effort to keep in some warmth. Bucky was startled; of all the things he expected the man to say, that wasn't it. He couldn't formulate a response - he didn't know what to say. The man continued, "I've seen you stop here before, from my window. But you never come inside." He pointed across the street to a small house, it large windows facing the church.

"I don't think I should." Bucky replied, his response more honest than normal. This was a man of God, and even if he wasn't sure whether or not he and God still knew each other, he couldn't lie to this man.

"And why's that?" he asked, not bothering to hide the shiver that went through him as a sharp winter wind cut through. Once again, Bucky found himself short on words. What could he tell this man? That he'd spent the last seventy years periodically assassinating for a rogue Nazi organization? That he'd betrayed home and country and everything he used to believe in?

"I've done a lot of bad things," is what he settled on. The man didn't need to know the details, and Bucky didn't want to think about them. The man shrugged, turning slightly so that the wind hit his back.

"We've all done bad things, son." he said. He spoke very matter-of-factly, as if he wasn't concerned about the sins Bucky may have committed. They stood in silence for a moment before the man spoke again, nodding his head towards the doors. "Come in, have some tea. No sermons or confessions, I promise."

"Thank you, Father." he replied, finally remembering the proper moniker for the man. "But I don't belong in such a holy place."

The Father nodded, looking back up at the church. "Well, the services are done and I'm out of my ceremonial attire. As far as I'm concerned, this is just a building. And I'm just an old man looking for some company for Christmas."

Bucky's mind whirred as he considered all the possible ways this could go wrong. The alarms in the back of his head were screaming, his muscles buzzing with adrenaline. He could run. He should run.

The Church will be there for you when no one else is, James. The feminine voice came to him in his mind. She'd been silent for a long time; he'd wondered if he was ever going to hear it again. It was a memory, he knew. But he still couldn't place who it was that was speaking to him. And while the Church definitely was not there for him in his time of need, he couldn't deny the curiosity piquing within him. Had things changed since the 40's? Maybe this was what he needed to really bring him back to his roots, to push the Soldier away and bring back the Man.

"Tea couldn't hurt." he finally said, though he still didn't move towards the doors. The old man smiled and beckoned him.

"Let's go. My old bones can't take the cold like they used to." he said, turning and walking inside. Bucky put one foot on the steps, the war still waging within him even though the decision was made. Everything about this simultaneously felt familiar and alien. It made him anxious. But he also felt the need to go through with it. With purposeful movements, he walked up the steps and through the front door.

The Father didn't lead him into the sanctuary, though Bucky could see the high ceilings and the decorated windows through the openings. He could hear sounds from his past, music pouring from the doors. But he couldn't name the tune, or follow it. He felt like his heart was twisting in his chest, and he nearly turned and bolted. But that would be rude. And that would mean the Soldier won. He was tired of the Soldier winning, he realized. He instead followed the man to a side parlor, a small room with a fireplace and comfortable seating. The Father poured the tea and handed it to him, gesturing for him to sit in the chair closest to the door.

"Thank you, Father." he said, gratefully taking the cup. It smelled different than the tea Mika usually made, and at first he was hesitant to drink it. But the Father sat on the couch and took a long sip of it, humming in appreciation of the warmth.

"You can call me Filip. Do you mind if I ask your name?" he said, gazing at him with a gentle smile. He shouldn't share his name. The less people that knew him, the better. He needed to stay anonymous.

"Jones." Bucky said after a moment, deciding to listen to his inner training at this moment. He wouldn't lie about his circumstances, but his name he would keep to himself. One person knew his real name, and that was enough. The man nodded, as if he knew this was not the truth.

"Well, Jones, how long have you lived here?" he asked. There was no sinister glint in his eye, no tells in his posture that spoke to ill intent. Bucky was trying to believe that the man was just being kind, but he still couldn't bring himself to trust him.

"Almost six months." he said truthfully. He finally took a sip of the tea, but found he didn't like it. The Father let out a surprised noise.

"And how do you find it? Usually it's around six months where people finally make a decision about it." he continued. Bucky knew he was just making conversation, but the questions made him uneasy. Any time someone asked him questions, it made him uneasy.

"I like it, I think." he replied. He would keep his answers short, to the point. He didn't need to give the man any more information than necessary, though he had to admit that Filip did not come across as threatening. And Bucky had encountered many threatening people in his life.

"It's a wonderful city. So full of life." Filip said, a smile on his face as if recalling a fond memory.

"Have you lived here long?" Bucky asked him. He was willing himself to make conversation, though it was hard to make his tone of voice match the curiosity he was supposed to be feeling. This was the first time he was attempting legitimate conversation with someone besides Mika, and he felt as if he were positioned just slightly within his depth. He decided to call this a new form of training, and the focus helped him feel a just a touch more comfortable.

"Nearly all my life. I only left for my studies, and came back as soon as I could. I've been at this church since 1974." he said, taking another long sip of his tea. Bucky moved his gaze from the man to his cup of tea, watching the amber liquid spin slightly in the cup as he swirled it. He was glad to have something to do with his hands. "What do you do for work?"

Bucky's hand stilled, his eyes returning to Filip. The old man was still reclining against the back of the couch, his face gentle and encouraging. Conversation, he reminded himself. Make conversation.

"I'm in the warehouse district. Just manual labor." he said, again just giving the bare bones as an answer. Filip made an admonishing noise.

"There's no such thing as 'just manual labor.'" he said, giving Bucky a stern wag of a finger. "You are the foundation that the rest of the city depends on. Don't ever forget that."

Bucky was stunned, not expecting this reaction from him. "Thank you." he said quietly, looking down at his tea again. This time, it was to hide the confused look on his face. He knew his job wasn't high in the order of things, but it worked for him. It checked the boxes.

"Of course." he replied, finishing his tea. Bucky's was still nearly full, and hadn't been touched in a while. He gave a definitive nod, standing up and holding his hand out for the cup.

"I'm sorry." Bucky said, though he didn't know exactly what he was sorry for. He handed the full cup over to him. Filip waved his hand, returning the cups to their tray.

"I've been told on many occasions that my choice in tea is not a common one." he said, stretching his arms overhead. "But thank you for sharing it with me anyways. I do believe I've taken enough of your time, thank you for humoring an old man on Christmas."

Bucky was stunned. He couldn't be serious? They'd spent maybe ten minutes with idle small talk, and he hadn't even drank the tea. What was he thanking him for? "Thank you for the hospitality." he said. It was the only response he could think of that wasn't incredulous. Filip gestured to the door, and Bucky stood and exited the parlor.

"Have a good Christmas, Jones. And feel free to stop by at any time." Filip said, pulling open the heavy door for him. Bucky nodded, moving back out into the cold.

"Happy Christmas, Father." he said, turning and walking down the steps before the man could answer. He needed to get home - the current situation was starting to become overwhelming. The biting wind helped distract him and calm him, the harsh and familiar feeling helping to cut through the excess stimuli. He counted his breaths as he walked, remembering the way Mika taught him during yoga. That always seemed to help, giving him something to concentrate on as his feet travelled over pavement. By the time he made it back to the apartment, it was well past three in the morning, and the walk had helped mollify the bedlam in his brain. The apartment was dark, and empty, and quiet, and exactly the way he left it.

It was not a bad interaction, he decided. Just overwhelming and unexpected, two things that he disliked. But it was not bad. He eyed the sleeping bag on the mattress, and the cinder blocks in the corner. The newspapers on the windows dimmed the light from the streetlamps below. The mat in the kitchen hid the spot where he'd pried the floors up to hide his getaway bag. Yes, everything was exactly the way he left it.

That also included the cookbook next to the bed, and his journal on top of it. Both were open to the last page he'd looked at - the picture showing a hearty beef stew, and the recipe half-copied onto the lines of the journal. Next to the books were his new sweatpants, carefully folded and placed there until he assigned a proper spot to them. He was changing, maybe. Just a little bit.

A happy Christmas indeed.

Thank you so much for every fave, follow, and comment! I'm so glad y'all are enjoying this story, and I love love love hearing from you. Hope you liked this chapter!

-XM