Please don't hate me for a Christmas chapter in March. This just kinda happened.
Chapter 15: Twas the Season
Steve Danvers handed him another big yellow envelope before they left Tony's house. Bucky drove home with it in the passenger's seat, tantalizing him. He didn't want to read it until he knew he'd have Alpine there to comfort him. That, and it probably wasn't safe for him to drive in whatever emotional state the note would put him in.
When he pulled into the driveway, it was already dark outside. Bucky trudged up the stairs, set the envelope on the kitchen table, and gave Alpine his dinner. Then, he sat at the table and stared at the letter for a solid ten minutes. "What do you think, Al? Should I open it?" He'd had a pretty good day, emotionally, and reading this note from Steve might only make the chasm in his heart gape wider. "Ah, screw it. I won't be able to sleep if I don't read it."
Bucky tore open the envelope—only to find there was no note. Just a drawing. He slid it out and laid it on the table. It was just a cartoon turkey, drawn in a similar style to the Barnes and Rogers book. In the upper corner was scrawled a brief note, "Thought you might need to smile today. Love, Steve."
Bucky smiled.
~0~
Wanda picked up the phone. "Victor," she said urgently. "I need you to stop at the store on the way home from work." She'd already finished her Twinless Twins business for the day and was hard at work preparing food for tonight. It was the last night of Hannukah, and Victor's boss and his wife were coming over. He'd only been at this new job a few weeks. Mr. Hart overheard him mention celebrating the holiday with his wife and, in a somewhat deceitful way that Wanda still wasn't sure how she felt about, offhandedly mentioned that he'd always wanted to learn more about holidays he hadn't grown up celebrating. Victor, naturally, invited him over. Now Wanda was cooking for four instead of two.
"What do you need?"
"We only have eight candles."
"That's all we need, right? This is the eighth night."
"We need eight plus one for the shammash, remember?"
"Oh yeah. I'll be sure to get some. Anything else I can do?"
"No. What do you think I should wear?"
"Anything you want, darling. I promise, my job isn't riding on how good a hostess you are. This is just for fun."
"Are you sure? What if he ends up choking or something? I don't want it to reflect badly on you."
"He's not going to choke. Latkes are very chewable."
"You're right, you're right. Speaking of which, I still have more potatoes to grate. I'll see you soon."
"See you soon."
"Love you."
"Love you, bye."
Wanda stared at the massive pile of potatoes. She'd already been grating them for twenty minutes and had barely made a dent. If she was lucky, she might finish by the time Victor got home, just in time for him to help with the rest of the process. She took a deep breath and reminded herself not to rush; Pietra sliced her finger open while grating potatoes one year when they were twelve.
"If this scars, we won't be identical anymore," she'd remarked. Wanda had only scolded her for going too fast and not being careful. The wound did scar, but not badly enough that it was noticeable unless someone knew what they were looking for. For a fleeting moment, she wondered if she could manage to cut herself in the exact same way and get a matching scar. Then again, it would probably freak Victor out if he came home to find her bleeding. Wanda took her time with the potatoes and escaped uninjured.
Victor arrived an hour and a half before the Harts were due. A mad-dash assembly line of latke making commenced, with Wanda on batter duty and Victor on flipping duty. They cranked out latkes one after the other until they had a heaping plateful. "That was…spectacularly productive," Victor remarked.
"We make a good team."
Victor leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. Wanda blushed, the shooed him into the bedroom to get changed for their company. He put on a black turtleneck, and she picked out a gray v-neck sweater and a necklace that used to belong to Pietra. "Are you sure this isn't too dressed down?" Victor asked.
"It's Hannukah, not a cotillion."
Then Mr. Hart showed up at their door in a three-piece suit and tie. Victor shot her an "I told you so" glare before welcoming them inside.
Mr. Hart and his wife glanced between the two of them. "I'm afraid we might've overdressed," she said. "Growing up, I was always expected to dress up for Christmas and I must've assumed the same applied here."
"Don't worry about it," Wanda said with a smile. "We just finished making dinner, won't you join us?"
~0~
Parker and MJ went all out for Carol May's first Christmas. As soon as the calendar flipped to December, she was wearing red and green onesies and her bedtime stories became the Polar Express and How the Grinch Stole Christmas. Their tree quickly filled with presents for her, most of them from her overgenerous grandparents.
A week and a half after Thanksgiving, he, MJ, Bruce, Betty, the kids, and Tony headed up to Bucky's house to help him decorate. He'd mentioned off-handedly that he didn't think he'd be able to bring himself to open their box of ornaments alone, which they all understood as a cry for company. Many tears were shed, but they got the tree up and watched Carol May and Lanyon play with Christmas-themed toys for a solid twenty minutes afterward, so they parted ways feeling much better.
Both MJ's and his parents wanted to watch Carol May react to her presents from them, so they'd be doing two Christmases, one at each house. Parker spent hours baking cookies to share between the two families. He even let Carol May taste test one once it cooled from the oven—though MJ knew nothing about that.
His dads decorated their place with their usual Christmas cheer. Parker was happy to note that the ornament commemorating the day of his adoption was front and center on the tree. He carried Carol May around the apartment, letting her look at all the decorations that struck her fancy. She reached out to try and touch one of the pictures of him that adorned the walls, but he stopped her before she could get fingerprints on it. "Yep, that's Daddy. When he was a lot younger." He kissed her on the head. She babbled in response. And then her grandparents sat her down on a blanket by the Christmas tree and started regaling the tale of Parker's first Christmas with them.
Parker listened in with a smile on his face. He remembered that Christmas vividly, collecting the words for each of his friends and painting the canvases, but the way his dads told it made it sound even more magical. It was impossible to tell if Carol May was really paying attention, so busy was she playing with Grandad and Grandaddell's toys—because they insisted on having different ones from Parker and MJ's so that she'd always be excited to visit them—but the story wasn't just for her. Parker found himself blushing at the way they described his joy and diligence during the process.
"When you're old enough, we'll have to make you one of those paintings, huh?" Daddell proposed. "We can get Lanyon and any other cousins that join the family between now and then write nice words about you."
"I'm sure they'll have plenty to say," Dad added.
"You'd better wait until their vocabularies have grown a bit so they don't end up with a collage that just says "good" and "nice," MJ said.
"I know, I know. I'm just so excited for you to grow up and let us know who you are, little one," Dad said. Carol May cooed and clapped her hands.
Her favorite Christmas gift was a set of stackable rings that were not only different colors, but different textures too. Parker's favorite gift was watching her eyes light up the first time she saw it and the smile so big he could see it even through the ring shoved in her mouth.
~0~
Thor and Hela decided to pick out Loki's present together. Neither of them knew how he'd identify come Christmas Day, so they shopped in both the men's and women's sections. Hela, knowing much more about fashion than Thor ever would, took the lead, but she actually considered his opinions, much to Thor's surprise. There was one green patterned scarf that even Korg barked his approval of. When he wrapped it, Thor signed that one, "From Hela, Thor, and Korg."
"I know what you're getting from Loki," Hela told him.
"Don't tell me! It's a sup—surprise."
"We went thrift store shopping together."
"Don't spoil it!" He threw his hands over his ears and walked away.
Thor managed to avoid getting his Christmas gift spoiled. It was a tattered denim jacket that he immediately fell in love with. But not quite as hard as Loki fell for that scarf. Neither he nor Hela had ever seen him so genuinely grateful for something.
"That scarf is so cool, I just might have to steal it," Thor said with a wink.
"Steal from your siblings? What kind of delinquent would ever do such a thing?"
~0~
Bucky watched with a smile on his face as Alpine stared down the Christmas tree. The cat hadn't dared approach as he and the others put it up, too afraid of the new addition to the environment. Now, he seemed entranced by it. Alpine stood and made a lap of the tree, still eyeing it curiously.
"Decided the tree's not so bad, huh?" Bucky remarked. Alpine meowed his assent. With a last fond glance at the tree and all of his and Steve's ornaments adorning it, he headed into the kitchen to make hot chocolate. As he poured the marshmallows onto the small mountain of whipped cream—quickly, before the mountain melted into the steaming cocoa beneath it—a sinking feeling pulled at his gut. Bucky put the mug down and returned to the living room just in time to watch Alpine launch himself from the sofa towards the top of the tree.
"No!" he cried, but his shout came too late.
The next moment existed in a blur of snapshots. Alpine midair, trajectory taking him right for the tree. The cat's realization that he'd never find purchase, and redirection to fall towards the floor. Him landing safely, as all cats do. And the other thing that fell from the tree alongside him.
The toy soldier ornament Steve gifted him their first Christmas together.
It shattered. And with it, any hope Bucky had of getting through this Christmas.
"You stupid, fucking cat!" he lunged for the animal, blind with fury. Alpine cowered from his shouting. "You're supposed to make me feel better, but of all the ornaments you could've broken, it just had to be the fucking soldier! The most irreplaceable thing on that entire goddamn tree!" Heat pounded through his face and fiery rage licked at his limbs. "Steve gave that to me, he chose it because it represents our song and now it's gone forever, just like he is!"
Bucky marched to the front door and held it wide open. "I want you out of this house, you destructive, heartless little rat!" A white streak shot from under the sofa and out the door, fleeing into the neighbor's yard. "If I ever see you again, I'll break you too," he growled.
He slammed the door, turned around, and collapsed against it, breath heaving. His every inhale stoked his anger towards the cat. How could he have ever thought that bringing a pet into this house could even partially fill the gap that Steve left behind? He should've known it was pointless, that it would end up delivering more heartbreak than warmth. Bucky used to watch compilation videos of cats jumping into things they weren't supposed to; he'd found it fucking hilarious. Well, now that he'd witnessed it firsthand, he didn't find it so funny anymore.
Bucky crawled from the front door to the living room and stared at the shattered ruins of his husband's love. The broken pile of glass sat about a foot from the base of the tree. None of the other ornaments had been so much as dislodged by the cat's leap. Just the soldier. Alpine couldn't have dealt more direct damage if he'd tried.
He picked up one of the shards, one that had made up half the soldier's face. The single eye gazed back at him, crying out with the same pain that gnawed at his own core. With a growl, he clenched it in his fist, them immediately cried out in pain as the sharp edge pierced his skin. "Goddammit," he grumbled. Bucky threw the now bloodstained piece back into the pile and grabbed a tissue, holding his bleeding hand against his thigh to apply pressure.
After five minutes, the bleeding stopped, and he used his teeth to unwrap and place a band-aid. Steve used to help him put them on if he ever cut a finger. The thought made him kick a cat toy across the room. He stared at the broken ornament once again, the ghost of the cut's pain still throbbing through his hand. Unable to bear it any longer, he grabbed the dustpan and swept away the mess. However, when he stood poised over the trashcan, he couldn't bring himself to throw the pieces away. Intact or not, this glass had felt Steve's touch. If he tossed it, Bucky would never see it again.
Instead, he dumped the shards into a small mason jar and shoved it to the far back of a cabinet. His hot cocoa, now long cold, still sat on the counter. Bucky dumped it down the drain, smashed the mug in the dustpan, and threw those shards away. He returned to the living room and looked at the tree. The spot where the toy soldier ornament used to hang now looked conspicuously empty, the branches almost sinister in their nakedness. They'd spent so long deciding where to put each one to ensure no spot on the tree was neglected, and the absence of one messed up the entire layout.
His vision still tinted red, Bucky removed each and every ornament from the tree and put them back in the boxes. Now the tree looked as desolate as he felt. Why had he even bothered to be festive this year? He should've known that the first Christmas without Steve could never be jolly no matter how hard he tried to force it.
Bucky threw himself onto the couch and stared at the naked tree. The sound of Steve's clock ticking away on the wall burrowed into his head. With each second that passed, the hot fury bled out of him, leaving only coldness. He shivered, then reached for the blanket Natasha made them for their wedding. Bucky held one edge tight and rolled over on the sofa to wrap it as tightly as possible. The last of Steve's scent had faded from it months ago, but Bucky still took a deep whiff every time he used it in the hopes that maybe he'd catch a faint hint that time hadn't yet managed to wear away. When he smelled nothing but blanket, he started to cry.
That ornament and the scent in the blanket were just a few of many signs of Steve that would continue to fade as time wore on. Bucky wasn't ready for his husband's footprints to fade from the world. His thoughts these days were still mostly of Steve, and nothing would ever change that. But if Steve faded from the world, while remaining as bright as ever in Bucky's mind? He'd lock himself away in his own head. That was no way to live.
Every time grief took a hold of him like this, Alpine would lay on his chest and purr. The vibrations and the weight helped remind him he wasn't locked away in his own head. Bucky waited for the cat to sense his distress and hop up, but then he remembered what he'd done. He chased the cat out of his home, terrified the shit out of him, and told him he wasn't welcome back. His disabled, indoor cat was outside somewhere, afraid and alone and not knowing if he'd ever know safety again. All because of Bucky. God, what a monster.
Bucky untangled himself from the blanket, grabbed some food and Alpine's favorite toy, slipped on his shoes, and ran outside. "Alpine!" he called. The cat was nowhere in sight. He started up the street first, checking under bushes, up trees, and even down storm drains with the flashlight on his phone. The neighbors probably thought he was crazy, wandering around making "Psspsspss" noises and shaking a cat toy into every nook and cranny he came across.
"Bucky? What are you doing?" Mr. Hodge called from his porch.
Immediately ashamed, Bucky made up a quick, simple lie. "Alpine got out. Have you seen him?"
"No. Do you want me to help you look?"
"No thanks."
"You sure?"
"Yeah. But if you see him, let me know."
"Okay. Good luck!" Mr. Hodge smiled before closing his front door. Bucky shuddered imagining what his reaction would be if he knew the truth about Alpine "getting out." He'd probably call the cat equivalent of child protective services and have him taken into custody. Bucky continued his search for another two hours, but none of the neighbors he ran into had seen the cat. He was three-legged and bright white, so he'd be hard to miss. Discouraged, frustrated, and still sad as fuck, Bucky trudged home. His shoes were covered in mud from walking through forest, so he walked around to the back of the house to leave them there.
He froze in his tracks when he saw the white, furry form sitting still as a statue right outside the back door. "Alpine?" His voice broke on the second syllable. The cat turned around and meowed. Bucky expected him to turn tail and run for his life at the sight of the man who threatened him, but he did the exact opposite. He ran towards Bucky and nuzzled in as Bucky crouched down to meet him.
"I'm so sorry," Bucky cried, picking up the cat and holding him against his chest. He buried his face in the cat's fur. "I'm so, so sorry. You couldn't possibly understand what that little piece of glass meant, and I wasn't watching. It's my fault. Thank you for coming back. I need you so much. You're such a good cat, Alpine."
I know, the cat seemed to say. Bucky carried him inside and gave him a double dose of his favorite treats. Then, he grabbed a Christmas photo album and sat down on the couch to crack it open. These were tangible memories of Steve that were still here, and Bucky planned to keep them around for as long as possible. Alpine settled on his chest and purred. Maybe he'd make it through Christmas after all.