"Hey, Buck."
The familiar voice cut across the ex-assassin's private musings, drawing him out of his haze. He'd spent the majority of his Sunday like that: buried deep in his mind, puttering around his room with the buzz of memories and anxiety humming at the edges. It seemed that he spent a lot of time in his mind, behavior that he knew wasn't healthy (or so said his therapist, which had made him actually laugh when she spouted that). Hours slid by, the sun coasting through the sky with no notice taken by him. Bucky did have quite a bit to think about those days, plans that he could make, thoughts that he could afford to have, and sometimes even the blissful peace of nothingness. At the moment, he was seated at his borrowed desk, pen in hand as he stared straight ahead. Another nightmare had come upon him, and he'd been adamant in continuing his detailed documentations, page after page filling with the inked blood of his victims. The innocuous notebook was flipped open, the new record out for all to see. His attention, though had been grabbed by the photos tacked up on the wall before him. The wedding photos Steve had sent him were a little worn around the sides, but they otherwise remained in good condition. He tore his blue gaze away from the brunet man standing by the captain and pointing at something in the distance, from the redhead giving a flirtatious wink to the camera, and swiveled in his seat to face the intruder.
Steve stood there, arms crossed and resting against the open door jamb. He was still dressed in his Sunday best, though the buttons at the collar had been popped. He and his wife had attended a church not too far from the house, and often invited him to go along whenever they had the chance to attend, but that morning they had taken his silence as an obvious declination. Another Sunday of missed services, a feminine voice in the back of his mind clicking her tongue at him, another Sunday spent wallowing in his sins instead of seeking forgiveness for them.
"Hey," he said instead, dropping the pen and forcing himself to grin. "You need something?"
His friend's answering smile looked strained as well. Tipping a palm out, he inquired, "You got a minute to talk?"
Slowly, Bucky nodded, shutting his notebook and sighing. "Sure."
Gesturing for Steve to come in, he waited as Steve seated himself on the edge of his bed, carefully avoided the sweats and dirty t-shirt he had left atop the comforter. Mildly amused by his friend's obvious distaste, he said nothing about it. Rather, he listened as Steve began to speak. With Christmas coming upon them in a few short days, he wanted him to know about the plans he and his wife were making. It seemed that her family had responded to his invitation of coming out to New York for the holiday, and they would be staying in the house as well. They were good people, not violent or boisterous, but they were civilians. They were ignorant of his existence, save as a friend who had needed a place to stay after enduring problems in his personal life (Bucky's eyebrows rose at that, at the lack of full disclosure given to them). All of them would be in close quarters for a minimum of a week.
"What I want to know, is what you'd like to do," Steve said point-blank, a thumb tapping along his thigh as he spoke. Flicking the fingers of his free hand in the air, he assured him, "We have the two rooms upstairs open for them, so they won't always be on top of you. Space really isn't an issue."
"Isn't it?" Bucky asked bluntly, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. The rise of indignation and worry seeped into his person. It had been mentioned some time ago that his friend intended to bring the in-laws out to the house. And while he was stable for the moment, there was no guarantee that he would remain so. "You sure her family won't need space?"
And the tiniest, evilest part of his brain goaded him into thinking he would be intruding, as well. At once, Steve's brow furrowed as if he'd heard the whispers of his mind.
"You need it, too," he asserted, looking him squarely in the eye. Sighing, he rubbed at the back of his neck, mimicking Bucky's posture in that moment. "Holly and I talked about it, and ultimately, we would like everyone to be there. But we know that that...might not happen." The inherent honesty in him had forced out the concession, and in turn both men exhaled sharply. Another balancing act was upon them, and Bucky had to wonder if he would be able to meet that challenge. Off his noncommittal shrug, Steve went on, "If you don't think you'll be comfortable around them, then you can at least stay in the guest quarters at the base, and just come to the house during the day. Until they head back home on the twenty-eighth, at least. The decision is yours."
Several long seconds were spent in quiet, the creaks and groans of the house settling occupying the space. It was hardly a life-or-death mission that they would be embarking on, but Bucky knew that the situation wouldn't exactly be the easiest for any involved. Steve's declaration of wanting to include him went quite a ways, but he had other things to consider besides himself.
"I'm not sure they'd be comfortable around me," he stated, snorting and grinning ruefully. "Given my lack of sociability, and previous occupation."
"It's not sociability that's the problem with you. And far as the latter goes, the amount they know about you is your business. We won't tell them anything you don't want us to." Steve's affirmations were met with a skeptical glance, and he raised an eyebrow at Bucky. "They might have some questions, though, no matter what you do, just because you're around."
They shared a smirk at that, but the ex-assassin's slipped away swiftly as he continued to turn over the options in his mind.
"I dunno, Steve. I would like to stay, but, I mean...these are your in-laws," Bucky said, leaning back in his seat. They were his wife's family. And Holly, while she was not outright cold to him after the situation with Stark went down, wasn't exactly his greatest ally. It could cause irreparable damage just to even stay in the house for any length of time, especially for her. While they weren't the greatest of friends, he did at least respect her position in the matter. "I don't want to make things worse."
"You wouldn't be," piped up a voice from the door. Lifting his head, he was met with the sight of Holly, hands tucked into the sleeves of her sweater and her dark eyes looking at him directly. She wasn't exactly the lightest of foot, and he had heard her coming down the stairs, but he hadn't expected her to come into the conversation, to hear him. To understand. But in her gaze, under the layers of uncertainty and anxiousness, was the spark of compassion. Upon letting him into her home, she had been truthful with him, stating plainly that if she ever did not want him there, she would tell him herself. It appeared that she was holding true to her word; there he remained, and would remain if he so wished. Barring any unfortunate circumstances, but that went without saying. Raising her chin almost in defiance of his disbelief, she pronounced, "If you want to stay, then stay. Whatever you want to do, I can deal with it."
Bucky was agape for a few moments, a little taken aback by her forthrightness. In his peripherals, the warm glance that Steve shot her was unmistakable, even as he affected his stoic expression. The pallor of her face lessened as he continued to stare, the red flushing up into her cheeks. It wasn't as if she was ignorant of the consequences either way; frankly, it surprised him that she hadn't insisted on taking the easy way out. Then again, she never really struck him as an 'easy way out' sort of person.
She had faith, despite her misgivings, and she had told him as much. Perhaps it was time for him to have faith, too.
"...Well, if she's all for it, who am I to say no?" he told Steve facetiously, earning a grunt of laughter from him and a wry twist of the lips from her. The joviality faded as he dipped his chin, his fingers threading together as he looked back at her. "Thank you."
The sincerity in his tone seemed to catch her off-guard, the minor flinch of her brow hard to miss. Still, she inclined her head, a corner of her mouth turning up and her hands tucking into her pockets. Darting his gaze from one to the other, Steve let out a slow breath, standing up and pulling out his wallet. A blank white card with a single chip was slid out, and he passed it into Bucky's hands.
Flipping the card over, the ex-assassin raised an eyebrow. "What's this?"
"In case you decide it might be too much. This'll get you into the apartments at the back of the base, as far as the guest quarters are situated," the captain told him. The look on his face reflected a form of discomfort, and he carded a hand through his hair. "Mrs. Martin, Lisa...she can kinda..."
"Be a hassle?" Bucky supplied, secreting the card away. Steve canted his head to the right, his brow screwing up in thought.
"She's more likely to smother you than anything else. If you're not careful, I mean."
Barnes, who had not been around any sort of mothering figure in over seventy years, could only take him at his word.
"Guess I better tread lightly, then."
"Watch it," Holly warned, pointing a finger at the two of them and wagging it. "That is my mother you're talking about."
"Yes, dear," Steve retorted in mock compliance, his shoulders shaking in silent laughter as she rolled her eyes and walked away. Smiling softly, he remarked, "It's kinda nice, though, for the first little while. Reminds me of Mom."
The wistfulness bit hard at Bucky, the want for his own mother rising quickly. The sharpness poked and prodded him, a half-remembered face with his eyes and a tired joy resurfacing in that moment. Her name was lost to him, but he did know her, and it hurt to think of her loss.
"That might not be so bad," he said, the longing a bittersweet flavor in his words.
Steve cupped a palm in the air, trying to assuage the sadness in whatever way he could. "Eh, maybe not. You'll see."
Bucky tipped his head back, staring up at the ceiling for a few moments. Another thought occurred to him, and he wasn't about to let it sit.
"She has a brother, too, right?" he asked, the innocence in looking for clarification not lasting as his bright eyes glimmered. The uncomfortableness from before flooded Steve's face. The leading nature of the question put him on guard, knowing full well that Barnes was about three seconds away from teasing him. A wave of nostalgia hit him then, less pleasant than it was...expected.
"Yes. An older brother."
At once, the ex-assassin's eyes lit up, so much of his former self flooding him that it nearly banished the darkness of the morning.
"I gotta see this," he breathed, an evil smile stretching his lips as he sat up straighter. "Stevie Rogers on the hook with a gal's brother."
"It really isn't all that funny," the captain groaned, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead. Frankly, beyond the initial first meeting, he was on good terms with his brother-in-law. So many people seemed to expect something akin to a brawl to happen every time they met. And so many people liked to see him squirm in that regard; his best friend, it seemed had just joined that list. Scathingly, he admonished, "Besides, you missed the real grilling last year, anyway."
Bucky nodded, his decision made fully in that instant. "So he'll have stories. Her dad, too, I bet. That might be worth sticking around for."
Harrumphing loudly, Steve just scoffed at his friend's dark laughter as he walked away.
xXxXxXx
Holly awoke with a start on the morning of Tuesday the twenty-second, her internal alarm clock screaming at her. Peering at the digital clock on the bedside table, her heart gave a great thump when she realized what time it was. It was a little after eight o'clock in the morning, well after the time she was supposed to be up and getting ready for the day. She was going to be late for work, was already late by her standards. Melanie was going to hand her ass over to her on a plate, she…
Slowly, her mind caught up with her panic. Of course she had slept in, because she was on vacation. Sharp breaths gusted out of her mouth, though the intensity of them had petered off. For all the differences and complaints that the job could inspire, it was rather good of the company to allow the office workers up to a week of paid time off for Christmas alone. Not many of them took that many days off, of course, but given that she was just a junior archivist, and one who had just come off of a majorly time-consuming project (finally, finally the files about Baron Von Strucker were sorted and placed correctly), it wouldn't do her any harm to take the time.
Blinking blearily, she realized she wasn't alone in the bed, like she normally was on the weekday mornings. Rolling over, she peered at her companion, raking a hand through her hair (or the rat's nest that called itself that). Steve was there, clad in his gray, plaid pajama pants and an old SHIELD t-shirt. He was sitting up, his back against the headboard and his legs acting as an impromptu table as he shaded in a figure in his sketchbook. The on-call period for the holiday started for him that day, so he was not required to go to the base unless it was an emergency. Evidently, that morning there was no emergency, and so he was able to do as he pleased. And, like him, the team was splitting to go their separate ways, the hurt and the suspicion of the last several weeks enough of a motivator to make them go. A change of pace was needed for them all, and they grabbed at it while there was the chance.
Concentrating on the sketch he was working on, it took him a few moments to realize she was watching him. He'd felt her shift, of course, but he didn't think she'd be staring at him so intently. Spying her out the corner of his eye, he smirked a little at her tangle of hair, and went on blithely drawing as she rubbed the sleep crust from her eyes. Her mumbled greeting was met with a hum by him, his smile growing warmer as she sat up and pecked him on the cheek. Yawning widely, she directed her gaze to the window along the wall, the curtains opened to let in the morning light, such as it was.
"It's snowing," she announced, the back of her hand tilted to guard against her dragon breath. It was true; thick, heavy flakes were falling just beyond the glass, yet another drop coming upon them in the season. It was destined to join the blanket already coating the ground and the trees, adding the several inches that had already accumulated over the last few weeks. His bright eyes turned to follow the path of hers, nodding once before he returned to the paper in his hands.
"Mm, so we're taking the truck in, then," he muttered, biting his lip as he accidentally went a touch too dark on the stroke. Tucking the pencil behind his ear, he fetched up the eraser off the nightstand, scrubbing away the error as best he could. Blowing away the shavings, he continued, "Good to know."
Shaking her head, Holly tried to tame her hair once more, fingers working through the sleep-knots that had cropped up. Still achy and tired, she swiped at her eyes one more time before she started to shuffle towards the edge of the bed.
"We should probably start getting ready to go," she said, attempting to motivate herself to take a shower. They had to go get her family; they weren't about to subject them to a hired taxi taking them out into the boondocks without any form of protection. It was just ludicrous, and so they would do it themselves. She paused as the roll of her stomach gurgled then, and she felt the mattress dip behind her. Strong arms wrapped gently around her, pulling her against the solid heat of her husband's chest, his sketches abandoned for the time being.
"Their flight doesn't come in until noon. We've got plenty of time," he reminded her, tipping his head towards the clock before nuzzling at the side of her neck. Her head lolled back against his shoulder, and with the press of his hands at her hips, she let him pull her back from the edge.
"For what?" she asked instead, allowing him to guide her to lie back down. She accepted his affections gladly, greedily soaking them in.
"For staying in bed, and staying warm," he pronounced, pulling up the bedclothes around them. He rested on his side, propped up by an elbow so he could look down at her. The drawing he had been working on, a sketch of the very woman beside him in the midst of her slumber, could be finished at a later time. Her eyebrows arched at his words, and she blew out a whistle.
"Wow, you're being lazy? Color me shocked," she gasped in mock astonishment. The deadpan expression he shot her had her breaking her façade and laughing outright.
"Be proud that you've lived to see this day," he retorted with faux seriousness, threading a few fingers into the strands of her hair. In response, she reached out and tousled his blond locks, knocking them askew.
"I am, sweetheart, trust me," she promised him. Adjusting under the sheets, she glanced at her stomach. "We'll see how long I can hold out."
At once, a frown puckered Steve's face. "Not feeling good?"
Holly inhaled sharply, shrugging back into the bed. Despite her insistence that she was not a breakable object, she couldn't deny the impact pregnancy was having on her. The fatigue and aching was being dealt with, but it was the onset nausea that really threw her for a loop.
"I'm okay for now, but who knows when it will hit," she groused, a knowing look passing between husband and wife. Both of them were becoming all too familiar with her newly-acquired queasiness. Huffing, she passed her hand over her brow. "Whoever decided it should exclusively be called 'morning sickness' deserves a punch in the face."
"I'll do it for you," he replied, mouth twisting. It would be simpler all around if she actually could be rid of it at the earliest possible moment of the day, but that apparently wasn't in the cards for her. "Would be best not to put either of you in danger that way."
"Ha," was the apt rejoinder. For several long minutes, they basked in one another's presence, pecks and touches pressed to hands and faces every now and again. (In spite of Holly's protestations that she hadn't brushed her teeth yet, Steve still leaned down for a kiss. When finished, he drew back and definitely asserted that she would need to do so, soon. That earned him a grimace and a smack on the arm.) Propping up her pillow to sit up and elevate herself better, she chewed her lip for a second or two. She'd been mulling over an idea, one she felt was worthy of consideration, and she felt it would be best to discuss it then. "We should probably talk about that."
Steve tilted his head to the side. "About what?"
"Well, given how I've progressed to some oh-so-pleasant symptoms, it will be basically impossible to hide those from my family," she pointed out, muting her wince as best she could. It was difficult enough keeping the secret at work; twice she'd had to sneak out her own trash can due to unbidden vomiting, and she endured a few questioning glances as she walked in visibly exhausted every day. It was only a matter of time before the whispers became direct questions, and when the sneaking glances would turn into stares. Flicking her gaze up at the ceiling, she mumbled, "God knows how we've been able to keep James in the dark for this long."
Steve's mouth became a grim line when she uttered that. His friend had been preoccupied not only with the fallout between him and Stark, but Fury had also decreed his final trials to take place upon the new year. He had very little time left to train before submitting to an examination board to declare his ability and competency. Between all that and improving his relations with the team, it did not surprise him that Bucky was still ignorant of the situation, as far as he knew. Although, to be fair, he did suspect something was going on, and said as much to Steve over breakfast several days back. Part of him wondered if his friend enjoyed watching him fidget under his gaze, that knowing glint in his eyes that told him that, after all that time, he still knew when Rogers was bullshitting him.
"My mom will know something is up, for sure, and we'll be in close proximity for the next several days," Holly continued to speak, plucking at the comforter tucked around her. Steve sighed, conceding to the truth of that; her mother was an inquisitive one, and observant. She could pick up on nuances, particularly when it came to her own children. Combing her hair to fall on one side, she stammered, "We, we should probably tell them."
There wasn't much he could say to that. With Holly unable to ingest something even as basic as caffeine, which had been a staple in her life for so long, someone would get suspicious. Privately, he figured they could probably get away with it for maybe two days before her mother would pull her aside, ask if anything were going on.
"...If you're sure, then okay. We'll tell them," he agreed, rubbing a hand up and down her arm. Exhaling, he dropped his gaze to her belly, fingers moving to traipse across the material of her shirt before laying his palm flat against the slight swell. Dipping his chin, he murmured, "We had a good, three-week run with just us and you, Bump."
"Disregarding the five beforehand we didn't know about it, huh?" Holly chuckled, raising herself up onto her elbows and shaking her head. A thought occurred to her, and she furrowed her brow in amused befuddlement. "Bump?"
Steve shrugged a shoulder, his thumb brushing back and forth over her belly. "We don't know if it's a boy or a girl. All we know is that the baby will be bumping out fairly quickly here. So, Bump it is."
A single, decisive nod followed before he grinned down at her. Snickering, she laid her hand atop his, breathing out slowly. Worse nicknames could have been chosen, and she couldn't help but think it was sweet. It would do, in the interim. At least ten more weeks, and then they would know for sure.
Risking a glance downward, she wondered, "Is it obvious already?"
"To me, it is. Because I know," he told her, noting the brief flicker of discomfort in her irises. At that point, it merely looked like she had just put on a little weight around her middle, not enough to be of concern. Holly had never been a tiny woman, so it would hide for a little longer, at least. "But I don't think anybody else suspects."
Holly snorted outright at that. "If that's the case, then Wanda must be giving me the side-eye whenever we're in the same room for another reason."
Rapidly blinking, Steve felt a little heat smattering along his cheeks. He hadn't noticed that. Wanda always looked at people like she knew their deepest secrets just from the briefest glance; truth was, she most likely did. And evidently Holly suspected she had an inkling regarding the coming child as well.
"Oh. Uh..." he trailed off, coughing once. "She hasn't said anything to me."
"Of course not." Raising her eyebrows, Holly playfully posited, "How likely is it that she'll walk up to her team leader and accuse him of knocking up his wife?"
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he fell back against his own pillow, letting out a short breath.
"You'd be surprised," he retorted mildly. Though it was obvious that of the two, Wanda was the subtler Maximoff twin, that didn't necessarily means she didn't have her blunt moments. Lowering his hand, he shot Holly a look as the rest of her statement registered. "And do you have to say it like that?"
A lopsided grin decorated her lips. "Did I ruin the happy, magical moment we were having?"
"Considering we're both still in bed and nothing's happened...nope," Steve replied. Wedging his arm underneath her, his prompt caused her to roll over somewhat into his embrace. Complying, she settled on her side, her head nestling onto his chest. Placidly, he sighed, "Still happy."
She hummed at that, her fingers tapping against his shirt. It made her pleased and relieved to hear it. After the last few weeks of doubt and resentment, a part of her heart was eased to know that he at least had a haven with her, still. It may not have been perfect, but it still was enough to combat the troubles of his mind. However, she couldn't resist another moment of cheek.
"…You left off the magical."
A groan bubbled out of him, and she giggled silently as she looked up in time to see him rolling his eyes. Reaching down, he gave her a playful pinch just above her hip. It was not enough to hurt, but it was enough to make her jump and yelp in surprise.
"Knock it off, you're nitpicking."
A few more minutes passed, in which she retaliated with her prodding his ticklish spots along his sides and him squirming beneath her touch. Soon enough, they had reached an impasse, settling for soaking in the warmth of each other's bodies and the heavy sheets on the bed as they rested. The swelling of her heart, consistently growing over in spite of the onslaught, compelled Holly to raise herself up and plant a kiss at the corner of Steve's mouth. Her hair fell forward, a tickling curtain against the column of his neck.
"Thank you," she nearly whispered when she ended it. His bright eyes narrowed in confusion, but the little grin he sported had remained in place.
"You're welcome…why are you thanking me?" he asked, wondering if he was looking a gift horse in the mouth just for putting forth the question. Her gaze flicked away and back for a couple of seconds, and she toyed with the collar of his shirt.
"Because you set all this up. Bringing everyone out here, and, well…" she let the statement trail away, emotion rising in her again. It was hard, not being able to see her family for another holiday, for Steve not to have the ability to get away with her. Time and again, she reinforced her support of him, her belief in his work, knowing that it would not always allow them to get away, free them to travel wherever and whenever they liked. To counteract a repeat of her deflation over Thanksgiving, he had taken it upon himself to open their home to her parents and siblings, inviting them to celebrate with them out in New York. While Heather and her husband were unable to make the trip, her brother, mom, and dad had elected to take him up on the offer. Noticing the sweep of emotion and the tremor of her chin, he reached up, smoothing it with the pad of his thumb.
"It's not something you have to thank me for," he asserted tenderly, any protestations that she could have brought up being brushed to the side. Looking at her squarely, he affirmed aloud, "We're all family now, may as well act like it. Best way to do that is to have them come around."
Her dark gaze filled with affection and appreciation. "Practical and sentimental. I like that about you, Steve Rogers."
Smirking up at her, he slid his hand to her neck, the fingers crooking around the back.
"That magical enough for you?" he inquired, eyes closing as he drew her down. Soon enough, he claimed her lips, sweet sips taken in between her giggles.
"You know what would really be magical?" she returned facetiously, pulling back enough to look him in the eye. His eyebrow spiked, and she hastened to answer, "A never-ending IV drip of coffee that's permanently attached to me."
A bark of laughter shot out of him then, a placating buss placed on her cheek as she frowned. Caffeine was something the doctor had told her must be strictly regulated while pregnant, and while she came to the decision of just giving it up altogether for the sake of the baby, it still was not an easy one to make.
"Can't help you with that one, Princess," he teased her, his arm curling around her shoulders as she settled back into his embrace again. Ignoring her grumbles into his chest about the nickname, he wrapped his other arm around her as well, treasuring the moments of closeness while they lasted. "Guess this will have to do."
Another fake grumble, and she burrowed into his heat. Tiredly, her eyelids drooped—the man was practically a walking heating pad, and she couldn't help but soak it up, let it soothe her. There was still time, she mused, before they absolutely had to get dressed and on the road. Just a few more minutes in Steve's arms, and then they would get up.
"I suppose," she replied, the press of her ear against his chest allowing her to hear the rising sigh of contentment as it washed through him.
xXxXxXx
The flight into Albany from Minnesota was over an hour late as it was, Holly receiving both a lackadaisical text from her brother to report the developments and a call from her mother on top of that. In the end, she and Steve had the chance to run a couple of errands before the airplane finally landed. The captain chose to stay out in the pick-up area, the truck's engine rumbling as she climbed out. Intent on finding the correct baggage claim, the churning of her stomach finally caught up with her, forcing her to beat a hasty retreat to the nearest bathrooms. She managed to keep everything until she made it into an empty stall, the door locked quickly behind her before she was forced to worship at the porcelain altar. The remnants of breakfast coursed up and out, and she shuddered as the vomit burned her throat. Morning sickness, her ass, she mused morosely, the thought all too common. How did her mother put up with it? Not just once, but three times? She had a feeling that by the end of it all, she would definitely have a better appreciation for her mother's trials and tribulations in bringing three children into the world. Soon enough, she was finished with her offerings, exiting the stall with a pale face and fire in her eyes. Another woman was still in the bathroom washing her hands, shooting her a look of sympathy as she rinsed out her mouth and splashed water onto her face. Blood rushed back up when she realized she'd had an audience to her plight, and she moved as swiftly as possible to get out of there.
Following her brother's texted instructions and wandering down to Baggage Claim C (desperately chewing a few sticks of the mint gum she always kept on hand now), she filtered through the crowds. The holiday travelers were pushing and pulling to get their things and away to either the next concourse or to catch a cab out of there. After a minute or two of searching, she spotted a bulky, red-flanneled coat, the young man wrapped in it running a hand through his dark hair. His face turned in profile, allowing her to note how his scruff had thickened for the winter, his hazel eyes scanning the area as he stood sentry beside a gathering of suitcases. Pausing until he looked away again, she sidled up to him carefully, her footfalls lost in the mill of the people around them.
"You looking for something?" she crowed when she got close enough, standing on the balls of her feet to get herself closer to his ear. On reflex, the fellow jumped away, a high-pitched shriek flying out of his mouth. Dropping back onto the flat of her feet, she brought her hands up to smother her laughter. Pressing a hand to his heart, he turned to look at her, and his gaze narrowed in a glare.
"Holy shit, Holl!" Hank cried, an arm wrapping around her shoulders and bringing her in for a hug. Laughing into the scratchy material of his coat, she glanced up at her brother, all too delighted in catching him out like he'd done to her in the past. Another admonishment fell from his lips as they parted, but her response was lost as her mother and father returned then, both of them having gone to look for her. She passed from Lisa to Paul, so grateful they had agreed to Steve's plan in coming out.
"Where's Steven?" her father asked then, cramming a knit cap over his salt-and-pepper hair as he let her go. Her mother's silvered blonde hair swung around as she looked as well, concurring with his question.
"Out with the truck, keeping the spot we snagged," she explained, taking his words at the cue to leave. "Which we should probably get out to."
Leading the way out of the baggage claim and up the escalator to the pick-up area, chatter passed between them all. After boarding at the international airport in St. Paul, the pilot had announced that not enough gas had been put in the plane, and so they had to cycle back and fuel up. Her mother groused, with a glimmer in her gaze, about the number of crying babies being brought up by one as Hank had fretted over the delay, to which he rolled his eyes and mock-laughed. ("Yeah, Mom, that's right. Deflect onto me; you don't sound guilty at all," he grumbled, and Lisa merely twitched the collar of his coat before zipping up her own.) At the door, they all worked quick to get gloves and scarves on, ready to meet the icy chill of the day. Pointing them down several yards to the spot Steve had claimed, Holly had noticed he had left the cab, pulling back the retractable cover for the box before resting his backside against the door.
"Wow...that is a nice-lookin' vehicle right there," Hank said, his admiring gaze sliding over the truck. The low whistle of appreciation made Steve snicker. After being folded into Lisa's greeting hug and shaking Paul's hand, he wandered over to his brother-in-law.
"Wait until you see all the upgrades," he said, the other man's hazel eyes brightening in curiosity. Palms out, the two exchanged a handshake of their own, and Steve smiled genuinely. "Nice to see you, Hank. No Jodie, huh?"
The tight grin Hank had could not hide his displeasure. He wasn't upset with Steve at all, but he was not happy that his daughter could not spend the holiday with him. As per the custody agreement with his ex-wife, they traded off the major holidays to have Jodie. The eight-year-old had pouted and begged her mother to let her go along, but the woman refused. For all her faults, she did love their daughter, and he couldn't blame her for wanting her time with the little girl. Even if he didn't like it.
"Nope. It was her mother's turn to have her this year," he said aloud, shrugging a shoulder and fiddling with the strap of his bag. Recognizing the muted frustration in his eyes, Steve winced, feeling a little awkward about it.
"Couldn't tempt her with an adventure, huh?" he tried to joke, attempting to smooth over any feathers he may have ruffled with his question. Hank exhaled slowly; he gave the guy points for trying, at least, and so he just tipped his head back.
"Not with Ashley's morbid fear of flying asserting itself," he muttered, frowning up at the cloud cover and the drifting snow falling around them. Bringing his chin down, he merely smirked at his brother-in-law. "Afraid you'll just have to put up with me."
"With all of us, really," Paul piped up then, his dark eyes twinkling in good humor as he hoisted his bag up into the box. Hastily, Steve retreated from Hank's side, apologizing for his poor manners and offering to help him with the remaining suitcases. Freed from her assisting duties, Lisa went back over to her daughter, linking an arm with hers as they approached the cab of the truck.
"Speaking of, do we need to stop anywhere before we go to the house? Get any food or anything?" she asked, a concerned lilt to her voice. Meeting her bright gaze, Holly shook her head in the negative.
"Trust me, Mom, we're stocked up. I feel like I spent my last paycheck solely on food for the next several days," she said, a pained grin coming to her lips. She was unsure how much of a joke that was, truly; the fridge and pantry were stuffed to the brim with everything she could think they would need. After all, it wasn't just her family that would require sustenance. There were two super soldiers in the house to feed as well, along with the hidden addition in her belly.
Hank chuckled, hooking a thumb at Steve as he pushed his duffel in with the bags.
"Just for us, or the human tank here?"
Off his words, her husband pinched the bridge of his nose, almost hiding the wry grin that had cropped up as he slid the cover down and latched it. She gave Hank a watery smile in reply, canting her head to the left.
"A little bit of both," she remarked quietly, opening up the door and ushering her mother to climb into the backseat. She let her gaze wander over the crowds, a glance sideways to her husband as she raised her eyebrows in question. He gave the barest shake of the head as he made his way to the driver's side, and she let out a quiet sigh in relief. They were not being watched or followed, as far as he knew; he must have been able to do a quick sweep while she was gone. Her attention then turned to other matters. She got into a mild debate with her father over who would take the front passenger seat, with her insisting that she would be fine in the back and him equally as adamant that she sit up front with Steve. A palm splayed firmly between her shoulders propelled her and he managed to get her in the seat and the door closed on her arguments. Glancing up at him in the rear-view mirror, she caught the repressed chuckles rocking his shoulders as he slid into the back, flanking Lisa on one side and Hank depositing himself on the other. Pulling away from the airport, the conversation in the truck ebbed and flowed as the company made their way out of the city. Turning onto the highway, the passengers in the back observed the buildings melt away, the flurries of the snow rushing past the windows as the terrain gave way to trees and hills. Spotting the mountain looming far in the distance through the breaks, Paul gave a muted crow in delight, and Hank began to speculate on the kind of hunting they would find up there. Lisa turned her attention onto the pair in front, asking about the plans for the next few days and asking after their work and home life. Holly mostly answered her questions while Steve concentrated on driving, but on occasion he put in his own two cents. The music on the radio had been switched over to a classic rock station, the lyrical undercurrent filtering in between the pauses.
Eventually, the truck was directed off the highway onto some back country roads, glances exchanged between the Martin men as the captain gripped the wheel and shot over a patch of black ice with impressive calm. They didn't know quite what to expect in regards to the house that the youngest of the clan had chosen with her husband; when she'd said that it was a little off the beaten path, she wasn't kidding. The forestry had closed in around them as after several turns brought them further into it all, the tires crunching on snow as it ground past a dark mailbox, the track buried under the accumulation. The slate-blue swatch cut through the gap in the trees, and suddenly a digital display popped up on the windshield. A smooth, accented voice announced that the security system had recognized the vehicle and was ready to be disabled for access. Reaching out, Steve tapped a finger at the controls, disarming the house as they pulled into the garage and struggling to smother the chuckles as his in-laws gasped behind him. Pulling smoothly into the garage, it was a simple matter of course to take out the suitcases and bring them up the back steps, codes punched in and entry granted. The heat of the kitchen enveloped them, banishing the cold that had crept up on them between doors. For the moment, they were the only ones home; Steve's friend, he explained, was out for the day, but he would be joining them later for dinner, once he finished up a few errands of his own. One introduction put off, but that was alright. Appreciative eyes ran over the room, a great swell of pride threatening to rise higher in Steve as he witnessed his father-in-law's pleased expression.
Holly brought up the rear of the outfit, occupied with bringing in the few items she and Steve picked up before going to the airport.
"What is in the plastic bags, by the way?" Lisa wondered, pulling off her coat and draping it over the back of a chair. Thinking it may have been more groceries, despite her daughter's insistence otherwise, she made to help her put them away. At once, she shied back, keeping them out of her mother's grasp. A swift glance passed between Steve and Holly, her grip on the bag handles tightening minutely.
"Last-minute presents," she said with a smile, lifting a shoulder and attempting to appear casual. "Couldn't get them until today."
Her brother scoffed, his mouth curving up. "Better be good ones if you're cutting it this close."
One more glance, and Steve cleared his throat, motioning for them to follow him further into the house.
"We think you'll like them."
"I hope," his wife whispered, so low that even he could barely hear her as they went. The upstairs bedrooms were equipped for them. One was a dedicated bedroom space (Steve's old mattress finally had a home, and would likely be better appreciated by Lisa and Paul), while the other was a temporary office. Still, it had a futon and a closet to utilize, and Hank was willing to make due. It seemed that the afternoon proceeded to blur around Steve, the others coming and going as he made checks around the house. He tapped into the security, alerting JJ of the increased capacity of the home and to raise the observance levels accordingly. The nattering of his wife and mother-in-law could be heard from upstairs, Hank's voice intermingling on and off. He didn't know how long it had been, but soon enough Steve sank into the couch, his gaze running tiredly over the small holiday knickknacks decorating the space, the tinsel garlands framing the door and windows, and the fake tree set up in the corner. Recalling the last Christmas he spent with the Martin family, he scrubbed at his face and hair while a weary smile bloomed. Well, at least he could be certain about the lack of threats regarding a door lock that time. And not as many people.
"Not the whole family under one roof, but a good amount," he muttered, finally removing his wool coat and letting it fall around him.
"And it's a good roof, too, from what I could see when we pulled up," Paul said from behind him, the older man leaning his arms on the couch back and nodding stolidly. With a brief grin, he imparted, "The two of you chose well. Solid structure, insulation's in great shape, wiring looks right...this was a good find for both of you."
That meant more to Steve than he could adequately express. Relations with Paul were never bad, but he did not want him to think that his daughter had been made the poorer for choosing him, for choosing the home that they had. As a contractor, he knew good construction when he saw it, and inwardly, he was relieved that to his trained eye, the house was stable. Although, some of the things he mentioned couldn't be easily spotted.
Spiking an eyebrow, Steve laughed, "You go peeking in the crawlspace, Paul?"
It would explain his disappearance over the last few minutes, at least, and the rocking clang of the attic ladder being pulled down. And the musty smell clinging to his person. He'd assumed Holly was showing it off to her parents, but evidently Paul was making his own headway around the house.
"Considerate it the cheapest inspection you'll ever have, Steven," was the response, a wink shot at him as he brought up the miniature flashlight he always had on hand between his fingers. The patriarch of the Martin clan made his way back towards the kitchen and the coffee maker, his son-in-law following with a chuckle and a shake of the head. One afternoon down, six more to go, he mused, indulging his father-in-law and discussing the house's specs in further detail.
xXxXxXx
The training room echoed with thumps and grunts, the lighting shining directly onto the solid mats at the back of the room. The dummies and punching bags strung up in the space were ignored, the space nearly abandoned save for the two trading blows. A flash of red and black whirled, legs curling around the torso of the taller one, metal and flesh arms working to dislodge the attacker. Deliberately falling back, the smaller one released her captive, springing away and rolling to avoid the crush of his body atop hers. Thus freed, he planted his hands firmly into the mat, rotating his hips and spinning out his feet in a fan. Clipping the jut of her hips as she maneuvered, he scrambled up, snatching her arm to twist it back, twist her into submission. In response, she tilted, snapping her foot up and catching him in the chest with her heel and knocking him back. As it was his metal hand clamping around her wrist, his grip did not slacken, but he did grunt as the wind was pushed out of his lungs, and she pressed her advantage. Hooking her ankle behind his knee, she jerked back, causing him to drop sharply. Planting her foot on the bracing leg, she shunted over him, his metal arm pulled up to curl closely around his neck. Breathing harshly, the two opponents froze in their positions, their panting mingling and floating out into the wide space around them. His other hand, the flesh and blood one, tapped the mat three times, the signal to end the bout. Nodding gracefully, Natasha took a half step back as Bucky released her arm, rising from his crouch and letting his metal appendage swing down to his side.
The could have continued the sparring bout for hours, if properly motivated, but as it was, they had settled for the brief time they had. Though he hadn't lost any of his skill during his year and a half spent away from HYDRA's hold, Natasha could tell that Barnes's movements were getting cleaner, more fluid with each training session. She reckoned Fury would be pleased with his progress, and said as much when they wandered off the mat. Bucky had snorted at that, positing that the fellow never struck him as easy to please, and he doubted that very much. Still, he was grateful for the time she was taking to get him back up to speed. The conversation drifted from there, as it always had after training together. At the beginning, it was meant as a way to convey where he needed to polish up his stances, his movements, but several weeks on, it had morphed to allow them both to become a little more personal with each other. More personable.
"What time are you heading out tomorrow?" Bucky asked, fetching up a water bottle and swigging deep from it. A dribble of water dripping down his chin before he wiped it away. Like so many of the others, she would be exiting the stage for the holiday as well, off somewhere that she would not divulge. Natasha sank down on the bench, scrubbing a towel across her brow before answering.
"Flight's scheduled for ten in the morning. Whether or not we leave on time is another matter altogether," she said, a humorless smirk winding its way out of her throat. The heavy snows were making it difficult to get out of the state, but she had made Clint a promise, and would get out to his home one way or another. Glancing up at her companion, she narrowed her gaze slightly. "Why?"
Tipping his head to the side, Bucky palmed the cell phone that had been stationed by the water bottle during their sparring. Giving it a gentle wiggle between his fingers, he let a rueful smile grace his features.
"Well, I got invited to this sort of...outing, with the members of Holly's family tonight. Dinner and a movie, apparently," he professed. He had suspected that Steve and Holly would have something planned, something to ease him into being around her family, and was apparently proven right. Natasha sucked in a breath, having an idea of what he would say next. Lifting a shoulder, he continued, "It, it would be nice to have someone else besides Steve there to talk to. My Christmas gift to you?"
The belated inducement he tacked onto the statement made her chuckle under her breath, her bright eyes flashing. Inwardly, she felt something fluttering, her stomach and nerves snapping and pulling all at once.
"Yeah, you're paying?" she sassed, raising an eyebrow. "With what money?"
A valid question, even if it was said with an edge. It wasn't as though Bucky was on the payroll yet; anything he had, including cash, had to be given to him. Offering to pay for her was noble, but it was a little less so if there actually wasn't any money on hand to do so. If she thought being snarky would deter him, she was doomed to disappointment. It had only taken a few conversations with her to comprehend her penchant for using snark and sarcasm as a method of distancing herself from an object, an idea...a person. Cracking that code, he'd often shoot something just as biting back at her, or ignore it altogether. After carding a hand through his hair, he dug into the small gym bag he'd brought with him, extracting the small, black wallet that had been buried in his discarded jeans. Opening it, he fished out the thin plastic card, facing it out so the chip and numbers glinted at her.
"Fury said that I'd be covered with this," he pronounced carefully, tucking it away and his shoulder twitching. It was under a false name, but the card still operated as it was supposed to, so he had no qualms about keeping it. Credit cards were still so new to him; it blew his mind the first time he'd used it, with Steve commiserating with him as he purchased a bag of chips from the store. The matter of the bill and payments fell onto Fury, and so he was determined to use it as little as possible. He was certainly willing to make an exception for her, though. His grin widened as he looked down at her. "So, what do you say?"
She maintained her neutral expression, but inside, the tremors had risen. The now-familiar slide of excitement paired with dread wormed its way up from her stomach, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't quite deny its existence. For so long, she had operated without feeling, without emotion, and when she chose to indulge in the childish sweepings, it still jarred her terribly. For a few moments, she missed those days, missed merely functioning to get from day to day, mission to mission, no thought spared to what was churning deep within. After the debacle with...in May, she had hoped she would be done with it all. She had thought she'd found a haven in work, as always, even in lending a hand to someone in need.
What she hadn't expected was the hand extending back to her, unknowingly, and it shook her.
"Sure you don't want Maximoff to go with you instead?" Natasha breathed, ignoring the hard twist in her gut as she attempted, once again, to circumvent herself. Flapping a hand in the air, she tried to smile back. "I mean, the two of you are getting—"
"I asked you first," Bucky cut her off, his brow furrowing at her reticence. He understood the implications she was making, and it was true that the Maximoff girl had started to open up to him, a little. But it was hardly something to write home about, and he didn't really give the matter any thought. "Besides, she's on her way to England, remember?"
Screwing up her brow, the realization dawned on her, and she nodded, her matted, fiery hair shifting around her ears.
"Right, off to celebrate Late Hanukkah with her brother," she mused aloud, mouth turning up at the corners. Taking a deep breath, she crossed her arms over her chest, feeling his gaze focus more intently on her as she stared at the opposite wall. "I don't know..."
Fingers, the flesh ones, tapped at her shoulder, cajoling her. "C'mon, you'd rather sit at home and knit?"
She snorted at that, rolling her bright eyes up at him. "Oh, you make it sound so enticing when you put it that way."
The cornflower blue of his eyes had lost their luster, his dark hair falling over his brow as his head drooped. Natasha could only stare up at him, all at once wishing to run or to smooth the crestfallen look on his face away, and was trapped into doing nothing.
"Is my company really that bad?" he murmured, hands tucking into pockets, his darkened tone at odds with the bitter smirk he shot at her.
"No, it's...it's not at all." Quite the contrary, her brain muttered mutinously. Though he was often clueless, and often surly, it wasn't as though Bucky Barnes was a poor companion. Not once in the times they spent together outside of the training arena—and those times were beginning to outnumber the sparring bouts, now—did she feel as if he were a burden on her, or that he could not keep up. In fact, there were a few times in which he'd made he laugh, his hopeless colloquialisms and mannerisms from his formative years amusing her. Their monikers were left behind in those instances, and all that was left was James and Natalia. Despite his past sins, he wasn't a bad man, something she could plainly see in her person, and even in the letters he had written her. He was fierce and determined, working hard to earn a life that many (no doubt) felt he did not deserve. It was an odd turn to take, the field agent and the brainwashed assassin turning something tempestuous and broken into something...almost pleasant.
No, he wasn't bad company. And that was what made her nervous.
"Then what's stopping you?" He watched as she gave him another flickering glance, and he sighed. Slowly, he swept his bag and phone to the side, perching beside her on the bench. Truthfully, he could comprehend the hesitance she was showing. She was no shrinking violet, and she was not without blood on her hands, of course. But he knew that being around him was difficult; it was hard enough for Steve to put up with, he knew that much, and it would be no easier for her. It wasn't in him to beg, not to beg a person to sacrifice an iota of time on something they had no interest in.
But he could make his case. He had a lot of experience doing that over the last several weeks.
A slight shift sideways, and his exposed metal shoulder touched against her hot flesh. She did not so much as flinch when he touched her, and he felt a spark of admiration for her; the appendage never made her shrink away, never made her nervous.
Letting out a short breath, he confessed, "For the next few days, I'm going to have to pretend I'm, I'm somewhat...okay. That I didn't..."
His metal hand fisted into the leg of his sweats, and he closed his eyes against the wave of memories. The rage, the agony, the sorrow in a hundred different sets of eyes glared at him, even as he sharply jerked his head, trying to dislodge them. Natasha turned her attention back onto him, her brow furrowing as the silent storm encompassed him yet again. It took everything within her to not reach out, to clasp his wrist gently, and she had to curl her fingers into her palms to stop herself. Instead, she waited for the waves to wash away, to settle again. Carefully, he breathed through his nose, and calm began to descend once more.
"With you there, I won't feel that way, at least for one more night," he told her, opening his eyes and meeting her gaze fully. Seconds passed in which he silently pleaded with her, the treacherous lurch in his stomach rising on and off. "But I ain't gonna force you."
A beat of silence, the thud of her heart in her chest as she pondered his words pounding away in time to the passing seconds. The crestfallen look deepened; perhaps he was pushing her too much lately, impeding on her time.
"Well, have a safe flight out," he said, his tone matter-of-fact as he made to stand, determined to save face and get out of there as swiftly as possible. He'd only gotten one step away when a long, low sigh floated out. Freezing in place, he cast a glance over his shoulder at her, eyebrow raising minutely.
"...What movie are we going to see?" Natasha inquired, her voice nonchalant. This was a path to destruction, her mind whispered harshly, one that she was stupidly seeking, but in that moment, she couldn't quite bring herself to care. It was just food and a movie, no different from anything she'd do for her friends. And, after witnessing the sudden spring in Bucky's eyes, the emotion that was warmer than the smug smirk he was directing at her, she figured what she was doing wasn't all that bad.
And it was Christmas, after all, or nearly so. Perfect excuse, and that's what she told herself as she rose up, promising to meet him at the garage after a shower.
A/N: And so we start the multi-chapter Christmas extravaganza...in September...no, I didn't listen to Christmas music while writing...ignore my shifty eyes.
If y'all are waiting on more action/adventure in the story, I'm going to have to ask you to sit tight and hang on for awhile. I do intend to do a few things, but after the drama of the last few chapters, I'm trying my hand at more light and fluffy for the time being. Please be patient!
I don't know how I'm doing with Bucky and Natasha. I really am trying to represent them as well as I can, but I...I just don't know. I hope they're coming off decently...
Trying to get back into the regular posting schedule after the slight derailment two weeks ago, so we'll see how that goes.
I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any pop culture references made in the text (Star Wars, etc.).
Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!