On the whole, the dinner wasn't as bad as it could have been. There were a lot of variables that could have made the situation worse than it was: Bucky not having been out with the general public for some time, the high profile standing of at least two members of the dinner party, the differences between the fighting members and the civilians of the group. However, Steve was grateful to find that, despite some minimal fussing of the staff at the restaurant—the private room in the back would be at their disposal, and Captain America's party would be undisturbed, so that manager swore—and the strange glances shot between his family and his friends from time to time, it went about as smoothly as he could hope for.
Of the family, it had been Paul to recognize Bucky for who he was first, and his wide-eyed gaze had given the captain some concern (it was the closest to shock he'd ever seen his father-in-law in), but he was quick about recovering. When asked how the Howling Commando had survived for as long had Steve had without being frozen, the ex-assassin had coughed, fork rotating in his gloved left hand, the long sleeve on his arm tugged further down over it. Unable to shake off his tied tongue, it had been Natasha who had filled in. No extreme details were given, but it was enough for them to know that Bucky had suffered at the hands of a rogue agency, his freedom from them being gained a short time ago. Her showing up had initially taken Steve aback, though Holly had donned her slick, shifty expression (the one she wore when she thought she knew something no one else did; when prompted, she just brushed it off, but the glint in her eyes was still there). However, he found himself thanking God for her coming along with Bucky. She was very adept at reading situations, diffusing tensions and diverting paths to move onto different topics. Soon enough, she was laughing with Lisa over a story about putting the recruits through paces—and shaming some of the more cocky ones—while Hank decided to engage Bucky in a discussion on cars and certain motorcycle models. It was a little stilted, to be sure, but once the mechanic had started showing him photos of the restoration project he would undertake in the next few months, he had his attention. Steve's, too, when he passed the phone between them.
"A Packard 180?" the captain had crooned, swiping his finger along the screen as Bucky craned his neck to look over his shoulder at them, too. Hank nodded, proud of the find he had made.
"It needs an overhaul, what with all the rust and being older than the hills." His hazel eyes sparked when Steve looked up again, and off his arched eyebrow, he chuckled, "Made me think of you for some reason."
Steve's brow furrowed, but under the pulse of conversation around him, he'd heard the stifled laughter of his friend. Shaking his head, he smirked at his brother-in-law, threading his fingers with his wife's and shrugging off the joking jab. Yep, it was about the best he could probably ask for. Once dinner was finished, the company exited the establishment. They had chosen to eat out in Gloversville for the evening, sticking to the fringes of the city as much as they could. Thus far, they had retained anonymity, with beanies and winter gear replacing the traditional ball caps and sunglasses for the night. The group cut across town towards the movie theater adjacent to the mall, one of the ones with those nicely cushioned seats that could lean back with a person as they sat. That was almost enough, in his opinion, to forget about the outrageous concessions prices and the overdone preview...things...that always came on now before the picture. At least the newsreels were pertinent, back in the day.
There was no question about which film they would be seeing. Holly had been dying to see Star Wars: The Force Awakens since it was first announced; frankly, if she were in any condition to be camping outside the nearest theater in the middle of December for the premiere, she most likely would have done so. It was hardly a concession for the others to agree to the choice; she and her husband had bonded over the movies, and her family didn't have a real problem with them, anyway. Their additional companions did not voice any objections, either, save that the redhead had declared the theater would definitely be crowded. It was just as well; the more they were crowded, the more likely they would go unnoticed (particularly when out of uniform and not drawing attention to themselves).
Bucky risked a glance at Natasha, giving her a watery grin as he handed over his card to pay for their tickets. Thankfully he'd gotten caught up in time; two long movie nights in with her and Wanda had helped out. He wouldn't be too lost; at least he knew what a Jedi was, and the Sith. He just hoped the whiny kid from the second and third installments wouldn't be in it; his whispered comments made Natasha giggle and Steve smile tightly, while Holly said she would be glad if a certain Gungan never found his way on the screen again. A simultaneous shudder ran through them all at that.
Seating was left up to the visiting members of the clan, Hank and Paul actually deliberating for a few long minutes at the side of the theater. Paul argued for closer to the front to feel more a part of the action, while Hank insisted on the back row to get a better overall view. After letting them whinge to one another for some time, Lisa stepped in to make an executive decision, ushering them all towards some middle seating still left over and hushing her husband's mild ribbing of her authoritative stance as they filed in. Coats and jackets were slung along the backs of their seats, though Natasha had fussed with Bucky's to make it sit right (she protested that she didn't want his sleeve to brush at her through the whole movie, softening the words with a wink). The sheer amount of people filling the space was enough to make Bucky fidget, fingers tugging at his sweatshirt and his glove. Though not overly exposed, he did feel more so than usual, and it would take some getting used to. On his left, he heard Steve cough, his broad shoulder bumping his in reassurance. It was just a movie; he could get through it, he promised himself. Once the theater darkened, and the screen lit up with the fantastical scenes of the coming attractions, the crowds were the last thing on his mind. To his left, he heard a muted squeal of excitement, and he glanced over, catching Steve's growing smile at Holly's obvious joy, both her hands taking his.
The scope of the film was what truly took the breath away, in Bucky's opinion. In his time, space was an unconquered frontier, and in truth, it still was to some extent, but the visuals and wide openness reflected onscreen, the different worlds and creatures inhabiting them captured his attention. Beside him, he would hear Natasha mumble every now and again, trying her hand at predicting events in the movie before they happened, scooting close so that their companions would hear her. Down the way, he caught Hank's voice whispering about how attractive the female lead was, making her way around the desert planet and fighting with her staff. She was a tough cookie, and Bucky couldn't deny the truth in Hank's words. And when the iconic Captain Solo appeared, he felt Steve straighten in his seat beside him, looking as proud as if it were him up on the screen. The plot was familiar, running along the same lines as the fourth installment, but at the moment, it didn't matter. He was out, enjoying himself with friends, like a regular person. Like a regular human being. His therapist would be pleased with his progress. Hell, even he was pleased with his progress.
And the whiny kid from the prequel trilogy did not appear. No, evidently a new kid had inherited the crown, only with darker hair and a much bigger nose. His conflict in the story rubbed Bucky the wrong way as the Sith attempted to prove his worth, his place in the universe. Despite that, it was a good time, and Bucky was enjoying himself, even with the woman on his right occasionally nattering away. However, the calm that had descended upon him was bound to fade away at some point. A creeping feeling in his gut tightened as Leia and Han bid farewell to each other, and he found himself drawn in deeper when the old man found Kylo Ren, the bark of his true name echoing in the theater as well.
When the lightsaber tore through the old man, his son's face devoid of any emotion, Bucky felt the dread spread through him. He also felt fingers clench around his wrist. Cutting a glance to his right, he saw Natasha's wide eyes riveted to the screen. All her mumbles of knowing something bad was about to happen had been stemmed as she stared on, the heat of her palm along his exposed wrist bleeding into his skin. His left hand curled in his lap, his gaze flying from her face to her gripping fingers, warmth flooding him and leaving him uncertain of what to do.
"WHAT?! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?" a voice screamed in the dark, both Bucky and Nat looking over in time to see Steve stand, an arm wrapping around his wife and guiding her back into her seat. The shock of the moment must have almost literally ejected Holly from her chair, her mouth gaping and her hands gesticulating wildly at the screen. Devastation and fury were written all over her face as angered gasps and cries rippled through the air, half the theater was in agreement with her outburst. Within moments, the crowd was quieted again, the shout forgotten as the film played on and Holly buried her face into Steve's shoulder, muttering under her breath as her fingers fisted into his shirt.
Natasha's fingers shifted along Bucky's wrist, remaining in place until the young girl had come upon the missing Skywalker, her tremulous face filling the screen as she extended the Jedi's weapon out to him. Slowly, but surely, the warmth petered away, and Bucky was unconsciously frowning at the loss.
As the credits started to roll and the lights in the house were brought up, the people around them rose and shuffled, the atmosphere carrying a new, distinct flavor as the time to leave came. It pulled the captain up short as they moved, and the others looked at him curiously.
"We better get moving," Steve announced, his posture stiff and his face grim. Blue eyes swept around the space, and his arm had started to curl a little tighter around Holly's waist. She, in turn, was nodding, dark eyes cutting to the crowds and back to him, to her family as she hastily crammed her winter cap back on her head.
From the other side, he could see Lisa's silvered blonde head tipping to the side, furrowing her brow.
"Why?"
Steve exhaled softly out his nose, his chin raising minutely. "People have noticed we're here."
"What do you...oh, right," Hank replied, taking in the murmuring crowds, the curious teenagers and the eyebrow-raising adults, some of whom sported visible signs of their support of the Avengers. Eyes darted between the captain and the Black Widow, their companions meriting minor curiosity as they tried to shuffle out of the theater building entirely. If they weren't careful, the entire group could get swept up, swamped by fans and admirers. That was something they didn't need at the moment. Caps and hoods were thrown on, scarves wrapped to obscure a little more of their faces as the murmurings got louder. Agita climbed inside of Bucky, but he held his composure as they walked, his head ducked somewhat to avoid recognition.
Natasha folded her arms, scanning the crowds and arching an eyebrow at her leader. "Scramble?"
Steve nodded, gesturing for them all to stop by an embankment of doors, just off the bathrooms. Time for a plan.
"Paul and Lisa, follow Nat and James to the north entrance," he commanded, his tone brooking no argument. "Her car's there, so she can bring you back home. Holly, Hank, and I will go out the east exit and to the truck. We'll meet back at the house. If we move fast, we might be able to get past 'em."
"Relatively unscathed, that is," Holly breathed out, sharing a knowing look with Nat for a second or two. Lifting a shoulder, she took her husband's hand, gesturing for her brother to step lively. Mr. Martin placed a hand along the small of his wife's back, nodding to his son-in-law as they left before turning to the other two remaining with them.
"It would probably be better for me to blend and follow," Bucky breathed in Natasha's ear, shrugging on his thick coat as he spoke. Sliding the remaining glove onto his bare hand, he murmured, "I'll be right behind you."
The warmth of his body behind hers melted away, and she did not acknowledge the cold shiver that had run up her spine. Shaking her head, she turned her focus onto her objective, pulling on her own winter gear and smiling reassuringly at the Martins. Shifting in between them, she quietly instructed them to walk, lacing her arms around the pair of them. With her hair now tucked into her hat, and slouching her stance, she struck up a falsely cheerful conversation with Lisa about Christmas decorations. In mere seconds, she had gone from the imposing Black Widow to a young woman without a care in the world. To other observers, she passed for a girl out with her parents on the brink of the holidays. Paul's face ticked nervously, but he kept his expression neutral, while Mrs. Martin did her best to keep chattering. All the while, as they threaded through the other theater goers (many of whom were wondering what had happened to the two Avengers spotted in the building, or being chided for thinking they were even there in the first place) the unobtrusive presence of a certain soldier lingered behind them, languidly following after them once they finally made it to the exit. Once they were through the door, Natasha dropped the facade, pulling her legs into a jog over to her sleek vehicle, thankful for choosing the black model. Someone in the distance cried out, but by then all four of them were situated in the seats, and she had maneuvered the car out of its spot.
When there was a good amount of distance placed between them and the theater, Natasha took stock of the other inhabitants of the vehicle. Bucky's gaze was sweeping around as she drove, blue eyes still wide in concern. In the rear-view mirror, she spotted Lisa and Paul unzipping their coats, the look on their faces sliding between humor and incredulity.
Chuckling silently to herself, Natasha negotiated a left turn and said, "Hope that brief near-miss with celebrity hasn't put you folks off."
The older woman in the back laughed, a sardonic edge to it. "Not much. Does that happen often?"
Natasha almost felt the precise moment when Bucky's attention turned off the road and onto her. His eyes hadn't moved, but she had spotted his body shifting, his curiosity in hearing her answer.
"Actually, not as much as you'd think. But then again, it's not a problem for me," she told her honestly, canting her head slightly. Her smile took on a hard edge as she propelled the car through a stoplight, breaking free of the confines of the city and onto the open highway. "I'm very good about hiding in plain sight when I want to."
Paul grunted, combing a hand through his hair and smirking. "Useful skill to have."
"Thanks. Too bad I can't teach it to your son-in-law," she remarked lightly, earning a chuckle for her efforts. There were reasons why Steve had headed the Strike Team and was not technically an agent two years ago. His time on the run with her proved his lack of ability; he was an able soldier, a great leader, but he was no espionage expert. She still maintained that he wouldn't have been alive without her prompting at the mall ("Your pushing," he'd retaliated, but she brushed it off at the time).
"It is rather hard to hide someone like him in a crowd, I'll give you that," Lisa replied, leaning back into her seat. A barely-muted snort flew out of Natasha's nose; she didn't know the half of it. Shaking her head, the older woman turned her attention to the man occupying the passenger seat, a curious smile lighting up her face even in the darkened cab. "Although I'm surprised you were able to do so, James."
Bucky's posture slumped a little, and the ghost of a grin he had been sporting was lost.
"Have a lot of practice, too," he confessed, the digits of his left hand fidgeting now. Smoothly, the redhead interjected then, recovering the cover conversation with Lisa from earlier and genuinely inquiring what she and Holly would have up their sleeves in regards to the holiday. Moving away from the topic, the conversation wound and turned as they shot down the road, the cold night wrapping around them, errant flakes dropping on and off as the off-kilter company found its way back home. The radio switched on, tuned to a station that had been playing Christmas tunes since the end of November, the Beatles and Bruce Springsteen doing their best to blot out any residual awkwardness that stayed with them. By the time they reached the half hour mark of the trip, the Black Widow was turning up a familiar driveway, the bright floodlight on and illuminating the property. Relieved at their arrival, the older couple thanked her for her help, and expressed their wishes for a safe journey in the morning as they exited. Waving a little out her window, she leaned back in her seat as the doors closed and they went into the house, catching Bucky blowing out a sharp breath and scrubbing a hand over his face. Natasha sighed then, as though it were a great concession to drive the pair of parents back to the house. As if civilians had worn her out. The glimmer in her bright eyes told him differently as she spoke.
"So that's what you'll be dealing with for the next few days."
Bucky shrugged at that, matching her mockingly serious tone. "I have options. And, well, could be worse."
They shared a grin, and Natasha shook her head, the lengthening curls of her red hair swinging gently. The purr of the idling engine filled in the quiet for a few moments, both of them content to sit for the time being. Soon enough, though, bright eyes glanced right, and she relaxed in her seat.
"You know, you did pretty well. With the whole strangers and being out in public thing."
"See, I don't know if you're being genuine or not," Bucky retorted, the corner of his mouth curving into a smirk. Passing a hand through his dark tresses, he muttered, "I'm going to assume that you are and just take the compliment."
She blinked at his words, grin fading as sincerity took her over.
"I...actually was," she breathed, his brow smoothing out as she spoke. Tapping her thumb along the curve of the wheel, she reached out for him, resting her hand on his coat. The canvas soaked up the heat of her fingers, and he felt the muted squeeze she gave, felt the slight pull where the skin met metal. A split second passed, and then her hand was gone, the weight lifting and making him feel oddly bereft. Glancing at the digital read-out of the radio, she noted the time. "Well, it's late, and I've got my flight tomorrow."
"Right, right," he murmured, clearing his throat and dropping his gaze down to his knees. A few more moments passed before he coughed again, hooking his hand into the handle and opening the door. "Uh, well, merry Christmas, then."
"Merry Christmas," she bid him just as he climbed out of the car, the door slamming shut. Her fingers curled around the wheel, and she chewed the inside of her lip as he moved around the front of the vehicle, debating something. Before he could get too far, she rolled down her window, leaning her head out and calling to him. Pulled up short, Bucky half-turned, quirking an eyebrow at her as the snow drifted down from the roof, the wind gusting and surrounding him in a false flurry. Nodding once, she found her voice again. "Do svidaniya, James."
"Do svidaniya, Natalia," he called back, raising his hand in farewell as she backed up her car and drove away.
Putting his hand in his pocket, he felt a lump there, one that had not been present before. That pocket had been empty all night, or so he had thought. Quirking his brow, he pulled it out, turning it over. The wrapping paper glinted in the flood light as he made his way around to the back door. Pausing in his journey, he felt his heart patter a little faster as he examined it again, his face contorting in contemplation. It was small, too small and light to be any form of bomb or explosive device. Hesitantly, he pushed a gloved finger along the seam, pulling up the tape carefully. The gaudy candy canes shimmered with glitter as he peeled off the paper, absentmindedly folding it with one hand to save it. The white box that remained had a simple lid, a small adhesive note atop it proclaiming it to be from Natasha (as if there were any doubt left in his mind by that point). Once he pried it open, he blinked. Nestled in some gauzy material was a chain, looping around more metal. Inhaling sharply, he removed the chain, holding it out to look at the single dog tag attached to it.
Bucky stared at it, a little surprised as he put the box back in his pocket. His old tags had been lost, taken with the rest of his personal effects when he was captured all those years ago. Nothing of his past was allowed to survive; it was too important to keep him ingrained in his mindset as the Winter Soldier, and his handlers could not afford to lose him over a slip such as keeping military tags. Name, rank, serial number...all that was lost to him.
And while the tag before him was not anything like the ones he used to own, it did feel like another part of his identity was found, a little piece rejoining the whole. Wrapped with a rubber silencer around the edges, the metal was stamped with a single star, plain and no color. No blood red dripping down to mar the smooth beauty of it. Beneath it was simply inscribed: J.B. Barnes. Palming it briefly, his gloved thumb swiped over the tag, curious as to why he was only given the one. A bittersweet smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth as he glanced over to where Natasha's car had been parked mere moments earlier.
Clearly she'd gotten more than a change of clothes before they went out. He just hadn't expected anything else. She was good for a surprise, that woman.
"...Huh," he breathed quietly. The chain looped over his head easily enough, and as he tucked the freezing metal in at the neck of his coat, he shrugged his shoulders. The bite of the cold December air seemed nearly balmy as he took the last few steps up to the back door, flicking off the flood light as he entered the house.
xXxXxXx
Waking up on Christmas Eve morning, Hank Martin crooked an elbow over his eyes, groaning as he shifted. The last time he'd slept on a futon, he'd been crashed out during a house party, and had left with no shoes and very little dignity. And no back pain; it was a little more difficult to handle that kind of furniture in his thirties than in his twenties. Rolling over, he moaned a little, casting a glance out the unshaded windows. Though it was overcast, snow was not falling yet, and he hummed to himself as he went about the business of gathering up his clothes for the day. It was too bad that Jodie couldn't make it out there with him. She would have loved playing outside at her aunt's house.
It was too bad that Gemma couldn't come along, either; he and his girlfriend could have engaged in play entirely different from his daughter's definition of the word. Her work was less lenient than his, though, and so they had to just deal with it. Besides, there was still New Year's; he would have her undivided attention then, at least. Humming under his breath, he picked out his clothes to wear for the day, a towel snatched up along with his toiletries. The day before had started in the same vein, leading to an exploration with his father and brother-in-law of the edge of the property. The hike through the snow chilled them all, but he didn't mind it all that much. He was away from the garage and the nagging customers. He hadn't ever been to the upstate area of New York before; it was quite different from D.C., when he had visited Holly there a few years ago. He hadn't thought that the place would be so remote, and quiet, but he could understand the appeal of it. Though Steve didn't give details about his job, it wasn't as if Hank and the family were ignorant of what he most likely had to put up with on the daily. The home he'd had with Holly was clearly a respite, and it was good to see the guy relaxed and not brooding overmuch.
The sound of singing drew him out of his reverie, and he groaned. The hallway bathroom was already taken over, his mother's voice floating through the panel and clashing with the cheery music on the record player down in the living room. Too late to get to the shower first, he mused.
Grumbling under his breath, he considered his options. There was the private bathroom that Steve and Holly shared in their room, or there was the other one down in the basement that he could try for. Thinking for a few moments, he made his choice, clomping down the stairs with alacrity. He'd rather take his chances with the friend than with his sister and brother-in-law possibly doing...stuff that he did not care to accidentally stumble upon. The guy was still a slightly unknown entity, and they were still getting used to one another sharing the space, but he had a feeling that James—Bucky, he reminded himself, the Howling Commando, holy crap—would be easier to deal with. Skirting through the garland-wrapped living room, he clambered down the basement steps swiftly. Crossing over to the bathroom door, he started to duck in just as Bucky came out of his room. The two men paused in their tracks, staring dumbly at one another for the moment.
"Oh, hey, dude," Hank finally said, a sheepish grin gracing his lips. Hooking a thumb back at the stairs, he went on, "Sorry, um, the upstairs one is occupied, so I thought..."
"No, it's okay. It's not like I need it right now," Bucky stated, shaking his head to emphasize the wet strands of hair, evidence of his own showering. It jarred the dog tag around his neck as well. Half pivoting, he shrugged and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. "Go ahead."
"Thanks," Hank said, flashing him a quick grin. Dipping his chin in a nod, his eyes caught the twitch of the other man's fingers, caught the shine of the lights across his left arm. Eyebrows flew up, and a sharp intake of breath cut through the air. Frowning, Bucky took stock of his expression, then glanced down at his arm. Grimacing, he stood still as Hank nearly dropped his clothes and towel. So that was why the guy always wore a glove, even indoors. "Holy shit."
The grimace deepened, and a slight flinch made his face tick. The twitch was strong enough to be noticed, and immediately, the young man held a palm up in placation, self-recrimination in his gaze.
"Oh, wow, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..." he blurted, threading a hand through his dark hair. Awkward seconds of silence passed, and he cleared his throat as best he could. "Just...is that...your whole arm?"
He could have bitten through his own tongue at the stupid question, able to see for himself the extent of metal running up to the other man's elbow. For his part, Bucky stiffened, but still nodded.
"Yes. It's a prosthesis," he explained unnecessarily. Pointedly, he lifted the left hand to tap at his temple, the shadows of a smirk dancing across his mouth. "Which somehow works up here, too. Nerve endings being connected over the years, or something like that. That's what I've been told, at least."
The SHIELD examiners had told him as much before he'd entered rehab, but even so, he still wasn't entirely sure how HYDRA had managed to make such a connection, even back in the forties. Those memories, save for brief shots that fluttered in his dreams, were mostly gone. And he still was unsure about whether he should have been thankful for that or not. In any case, Bucky almost chuckled as Hank let out a low whistle at that.
"Woah," he muttered, scratching the back of his neck. Lost for words yet again, Hank made a flyaway gesture with his hand, trying to smooth over the rough patch they'd just hit. "Got a buddy, did a couple tours in Afghanistan, sorta has something similar with his leg. It's a little less advanced than that, though." He tried to laugh it off. "Maybe he should get in touch with your doctor."
The strain in Bucky's face was suddenly obvious, and his smirk had turned bitter. He couldn't hold it against the guy; it wasn't like he knew the details or anything. Still, the thought irked him, and it showed. Sensing that he was close to pushing boundaries, Hank physically took a step back into the bathroom, setting his stuff on the sink, and coughing.
"Sorry again for...well," he apologized, fingers curling around the door handle. Roughly, Bucky shoved his hands into his pockets, lifting a shoulder.
"It's kind of hard to miss," he replied, wryness coming over his features.
"Yeah. Had no idea my sister was housing the Terminator," Hank told him, his tone indicating he was making a joke. Not understanding it, Bucky merely narrowed his eyes in thoughtfulness. Sighing, the young man back further into the small bathroom space, turning his gaze to his feet. "Okay, well, I'm going to shut up and shower now. Sorry."
"It's okay," Bucky muttered as the door was finally closed. The sound of running water was muted through the panels, and the noise thus ensured that the young man could not hear his grunt or the slight grind of his teeth. Well, it could have definitely gone worse. However, he had not intended for any of Holly's family to find out about his appendage. It was a vain hope, one that both Steve and Natasha had told him would be almost impossible to aim for, but he'd managed to make a decent go of it. For a little while, he'd stuck to long-sleeved shirts and either kept his left hand in his pocket or gloved. One overly hot shower and mistakenly dressing warmly afterward had ruined that plan. Shaking his head to himself, he felt a hot spike of rebellion and willfulness flash through him. If the secret was out, might as well be all out, then. Going back into his room, he decided to change shirts, throwing on instead the tee that had both sleeves cut off—by design, which made him question some of the choices being made in the modern world. Hardly appropriate for winter in upstate New York, but if it didn't get the point across, he didn't know what would. After swiping a hand through his hair and tucking his dog tag out of sight, he departed for the stairs, making the turn into the kitchen in time for both Holly and Mrs. Martin to turn towards the light-strewn arch and set their plates on the island. The older woman's eyes suddenly widened, and Holly's brow wrinkled as she attempted a grin. She sharply pinched her mother, her little yelp drawing her out of her staring and turning their conversation back towards what they were going to do that day.
"Morning, Buck," Steve greeted him from his spot at the table, his bright gaze scanning over his friend. Blinking slowly, he let an eyebrow carefully spike as the brunet made his way over to the carafe. No doubt he was wondering at the about-face Bucky had pulled on his own plans, but the other man just poured a cup of coffee for himself. He'd figure it out soon enough.
"Hey," he responded, nodding to the ladies as well before going over to the table. Plates had been stacked up on the counter for people to take, the breakfast dishes laid out across the tabletop. Taking one with him, Bucky took the seat along the far wall, wedging himself in carefully. Looking up, he noticed the older man to his left glance up from the two-day-old newspaper, his expression creasing slightly. Clearing his throat, he mumbled, "Good morning, Mr. Martin."
"James," Paul returned, nodding at him. Noting Bucky's lingering gaze, he turned the page, tipping his head towards the piled papers at his elbow. "Looking for a particular section?"
"Whatever you're finished with. Otherwise, I can use the tablet. Sir," he added belatedly, not truly intending to antagonize the man. Still, he received nothing more than a dip of the chin and a flickering glance as the fellow turned his attention back to the paper. Something about it struck him as so familiar, but the remembrance hovered at the back of his mind, niggling but unclear. Rotating his wrist, the plates on his arm clicked as Bucky reached for the leftover section about international news. He purposefully held it up with his left hand, letting the overhead light gleam off the metal. When that failed to get any sort of reaction, he abandoned his attempt at reading the stories (the King of Wakanda was addressing the United Nations at some point after the New Year, apparently, but he didn't really make a point to recall it). Instead he began to pick at the offerings for breakfast left on the table. Hank entered the room, his shower finished and hair drying as he scooped up a plate for himself. Sitting across from him, the younger man watched as the shining appendage took up a couple of pancakes and some bacon, sighing under his breath but otherwise saying nothing. Under the table, Bucky felt a sharp tap at his ankle, and he jerked in his seat. Looking up, he caught Steve's disapproving frown just before the blond man took a bite of food. At the island, the two women in the house maintained the conversation they were having, though it grew more strained as Lisa's gaze volleyed to him and away. Holly started to run her finger along the scar above her eyebrow as he reached across the table for syrup, almost challenging someone to comment as the fingers clinked and squeezed around the bottle.
Finally, Paul, having observed all this, folded up the newspaper and laid it to one side. Folding his arms over his chest, he waited until Bucky had picked up his fork again, preparing to eat.
"Okay, son. I can see you have a metal arm. We all have," he remarked bluntly, his expression remaining even. Silence engulfed them all, but it did not hover for long. Leaning forward, he stated simply, "If you're waiting for someone to grill you about it, you're gonna be waiting for awhile."
Bucky's spine stiffened, and he met the patriarch's gaze fully. Memory sputtered in the back of his mind again, the fatherly tone the man had taken shaking him. Father...his father. Paul reminded him of his own dad. He used to love trying to get a rise out of his dad when he was a kid, desperate to get his attention in any way he could. And Mr. Barnes had used a similar tone with him, the look in his eye bordering between exasperation and amusement taking him aback. Still, he wouldn't be cowed by the statement, and so he merely put his fork back on the table, curling his left hand and making the fingers clink against each other.
"Really." Not a question, but he was interested in the fellow's answer. Paul scoffed audibly at that, not about to let the word hang in the air.
"Trust me, I have enough to think about with a son-in-law who is technically older than I am and runs around the world fighting evil," he replied, pointing across the table to Steve before hooking a thumb at Hank (both of them flushing a little under the scrutiny), "my own son wanting to convert my basement into a still, and a new hire who can't tell the difference between his ass and a hole in the ground calling me every five minutes for help." The cell phone at his side had been quiet for the last few minutes, but even Bucky hadn't missed the last message and the eye roll the older man had given the device when he saw it come in. Paul's gaze softened slightly, but his jaw was set firmly. "Why you've got that arm doesn't break my top ten at this moment."
Quiet encircled them, the haze of it making the others unwilling to move even a muscle as the two men stared at one another. Music floated in from the record player from the living room, the swing of Sinatra distracting from the awkwardness. Several long moments passed, and then a clearing throat at the other end of the table drew them out of it.
"What about your top fifteen, Paul?" Steve asked innocently, eyeing his father-in-law over the rim of his coffee mug. A chorus of smothered snickers (from his wife, Hank, and Lisa as well) followed his inquiry, making the placid expression he adopted that much harder to maintain. Bucky just shot him a look, his jaw taking on a mocking mulish set. The urge to laugh had to be buried, was buried beneath the remaining shock. For his part, Paul exhaled sharply out his nose, slapping the newspaper down and scrubbing a palm against his brow. The light in his dark eyes danced, though, so Steve didn't feel too bad about egging him on.
"I'm surrounded by smart asses."
"Would you rather we were idiots, Dad?" Hank scoffed, finally reaching out to assemble his own breakfast. Casting a glance at the other two men at the table, he continued. "And it wouldn't be a still. Just trying some brewing on the side with a friend of mine, and we need a little more space."
"Cut me in when you finally get around to selling it, and then we'll talk, Henry," Paul retorted, shaking his head and rising to refill his coffee mug. With the tension broken, with the most glaringly obvious fact of his differences between him and these people out for all to see, Bucky felt something inside him deflate. They may not know everything that he had done, but they could see the monstrosity on his body, and not flinch away from it. To them, it was just a part of him—a big, shiny part of him—and that was just it. Glancing up, he noticed Steve ducking his head, the rueful grin he was sporting barely hidden. He understood, it seemed, and Bucky blew out a breath.
Flicking his blue eyes across the table, though, he smirked and snorted. "Henry."
Hank's earlier reticence with him was gone in an instant, replaced with faux irritation and a finger jabbing in his direction.
"Don't even, Robo-Cop," he snapped, earning confused looks from both super soldiers while his sister choked down another wave of laughter. Canting his head to the side, he chose to ignore the reference he made and instead elaborated further on his brewing venture, metals arms and tensions forgotten.
xXxXxXx
Holly sank down on the edge of her mattress, letting out a soft sigh. Holidays were so much work, she thought to herself. Being a guest for a holiday was so simple in comparison to being the host. It was worth it, though, in her opinion; she had her family for that one, and her husband was safe at home, too. It was worth it, even when she wanted to slam her head against the counter in frustration. Even when she was left with choking down non-alcoholic eggnog (for Bump's sake, she reminded herself, would she do it). At least that time, she had Lisa around to help her out. The woman was a master, in her own way, bustling around and keeping an eye on the myriad of things that needed to be done around the house. Hell, it was enough for her to keep fussing over Bucky, letting him tell her some of his sparse memories of his family at Christmas while she rescued a batch of cookies from the oven.
Having her mother there was a godsend, truly. Keeping her busy had successfully distracted her from her brief bouts of nausea that day, and allowed Holly the opportunity to escape once or twice.
A knock came at the open door, and she pulled herself out of her mind, smiling up at her mother. Lisa had come up with the news that the men had returned from their second outdoor escapade (Bucky had even gone with that time; who knew that exposing his arm would actually drop some barriers?), and she wanted to know what she wanted to do first: dinner or presents. Since they were infringing on her home, she thought Holly should be the one to decide. The younger woman's personal logic denoted that for a group of men, all of whom were generally active and at least physically over thirty years old, getting some food in them would be the wisest course of action. Lisa nodded at that, snickering in agreement with the plan. Before she could move back towards the stairs, Holly called out to her, ushering her back into the bedroom. Gesturing for her to take a seat beside her, she drew in a deep breath.
"Thanks for your help, Mom," she started, wishing she could do more to express her gratitude.
Lisa shook her head, her blond braid twitching along her back. "Don't worry about it."
"Really," she butted in, wanting to say her piece. Her mouth curved up as she looked at the older woman, warmth and admiration filling her from the inside out. "You've always made this look so easy over the years, even when you're yelling for me to get the damn gravy."
That memory made them both laugh, even if at the time she had been shocked and a little frightened by her mother's outburst. She was thirteen, and moody at the time, not wanting to be a part of anything for the holidays. Boy, did Lisa set her straight that year.
"One time out of twenty-seven years, and that's the one you remember. No respect," she groused in good humor, flapping a hand in the air. Waiting for the laughter to peter off, Lisa gave Holly a soft smile, reaching up and plucking some stray hairs from her sweater. "It wasn't always easy, but it gets better every time. New memories to make, which I'm glad to do."
"Even with me?"
Lisa smiled broadly. "Especially with my children."
The younger woman gave her a long look, and curved her mouth up happily. "You're such a good mom. And grandma."
Her fingers curled into the ends of her sleeves, preventing herself from laying on her own abdomen. She was just shy of truly biting her tongue to stop herself from spilling everything to her mother, but she held back. For her part, the older woman accepted her words with a decisive nod.
"Getting cavities, sugar," Lisa teased her youngest daughter, nudging her elbow with her own. Snaking an arm around her, she pulled her into her side, hugging her tightly. Holly closed her eyes, wrapping her arms around her and letting her chin rest on her shoulder. "Thank you."
Footsteps in the hall made them both turn their heads towards the door just as Steve stepped into the room, his ears and cheeks still pink from the cold. Stopping short upon spotting them, he grinned as Lisa rose from her seat, promising to get things set up downstairs for them. Passing him on her way out, she patted her son-in-law's arm fondly. His eyes tracked her path to the stairs before flicking back to his wife. Gently, he smiled, leaning back against the door and crossing his arms.
"Tonight or tomorrow, sweetheart?" he asked, the confident lilt of his voice making her giggle a little.
"Tonight. Definitely tonight."
Letting out a short breath, Steve wandered into the room, going into the closet and reaching up into the hiding place along the top shelf. Withdrawing the three wrapped parcels, he came back into the room, handing them off to Holly one by one. Apparently, he'd beaten her to the punch on getting the presents ready, as she hadn't gotten beyond boxing them up. There were several breaks in the day where she hadn't seen him; he could easily have sneaked upstairs and finished the special project while she was doing other things. Catching her inquisitive gaze, he grinned.
"Figured you would want to get it done as soon as you could," he said, laying his palm on her shoulder, thumb brushing back and forth. Carefully, she took his hand off her, instead bringing it up to her lips. Pecks were dropped on his knuckles, and she smiled up at him, brighter than before.
"Good man," she said, tugging gently on his hand. Following her prompt, he leaned over, bracing himself firmly on the bedspread and kissing her soundly. A raised voice came up the stairwell then, jarring them both out of the moment. Breathing sharply out of his nose, Steve pulled a face, muttering about the déjà vu nature of an illicit kiss stolen in between family moments, and she laughed. Gathering up the little gifts, she led the way down the stairs, with him right behind her and his hand resting in the small of her back. The packages were hidden quickly, and the pair were in the kitchen before notice could be taken.
Dinner was light, as the buffet-style meal that would extend over the entire day of Christmas loomed on the horizon, and soon enough the group found themselves in the living room. Dessert cookies were gnawed at while new music played in the background (the missus of the house took control, her new favorite being the album put out by a talented Broadway actress). Two presents each for Christmas Eve were to be opened, and then stockings and the remainder would be unwrapped after services the next morning. Steve knew for a fact that he would not be dodging the ugly sweater present any more than the rest of them—and he had been proven right, with the stitched shield motif surrounded by reindeer and evergreens; once again, Lisa sat on the arm of the chair her husband was perched in, proud of her finds—but he had thought that Bucky would be able to get out free. With a sly grin, Holly had handed off a crudely wrapped parcel, and Steve had to hold back a sharp laugh as his friend revealed the long-sleeve shirt underneath that just said 'sidekick' in block letters. His eyebrows nearly hit his hairline, and the young woman merely smiled in response. About the time the duet with the Canadian crooner had rolled around, they were sated, and Holly's parents were debating upon whether or not to pop in a DVD or pick a show from the saved list. A slight nudge in the back prompted the young woman to sit up straighter, her man rubbing small circles in her shirt's fabric.
"Hold on, we've got one more for each of you," Holly cut in, sharing another glance with Steve. With the barest nod from him, she went forward, being the one to collect them from their spot behind the tree. She passed one off to her husband before moving towards her family, her hands shaking a little as she did so.
"Someone's rocking the tradition boat," Hank said, accepting his gift with a wink from his place on the floor. Steve swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing in spite of the wary grin on his lips.
"For good reason," he returned, answering his brother-in-law's questioning look with a bland expression. Standing quickly, he held out the small, wrapped box to his friend, inclining his head as he took it. "You, too, Bucky."
Barnes quirked an eyebrow, but he accepted the additional gift, hearing the delicate clink of glass within and endeavoring to be extra careful with it. He leaned into the kitchen chair he'd brought into the room, knee bouncing as he considered the small package. Sitting back on the couch, Steve's eyes darted from him to his in-laws, a spike of excitement and anxiety flooding through him.
"There's one for Heather and Jake too, but I thought you could take it back with you when you go," Holly was explaining to her parents before taking her seat beside him.
Hank grunted at that. "So it's not time sensitive, then."
"Depends on your perspective," Steve muttered, earning more strange looks for it. Taking one of Holly's hands tightly in his, he tipped his head to the others. "Go ahead."
Off his cue, the others began to rip open the papers, scraps strewn across the floor and box lids being lifted. He held his breath, Holly tensing beside him as they waited.
"Thirty-two weeks until—are you serious?!" Lisa crowed, eyes as big as saucers and filled with cautious delight as she read the stored wooden blocks in the box. Paul, sitting beside her, removed the blocks of painted wood carefully, setting them on his knees. A quavering smile bloomed, and his dark eyes shot towards his little girl. Holly grinned, her fingers wrapping tighter around Steve's palm, and she nodded enthusiastically in confirmation. At once, Lisa shot out of her seat, landing on the couch beside her and gathering her up in her arms. Laughing at the display of affection, Holly was released only seconds later, her mother springing up and pulling Steve into her embrace as well.
"Damn," his brother-in-law remarked, a giant grin on his lips. In his hand was a shot glass, the word 'uncle' laid across the surface. It was identical to the one Bucky held in his palm, but his expression was unreadable. Once released from Lisa's embrace, Steve noticed his friend's set jaw, the hard stare of his blue eyes at the little shot glass. His smile faded, and his free hand curled into the cushion beneath him.
"Bucky?" he called his name, but the other man did not respond. Standing up, Steve took a step towards his old friend, brow furrowing in confusion and, perhaps, in uncertainty. He had wanted Bucky to be included in the revelation, and Holly had not argued the point (too much), but perhaps it would have been better to wait. Finally tearing his gaze off the little glass in his hand, Bucky blinked at him. Before another word could pass the captain's lips, his friend suddenly stood, striding forward and doing something he hadn't done since the 1940's.
He hugged Steve. It was over quickly, one-armed and a tight squeeze with two sharp raps along his back, but it was still a hug. Thrown into total surprise, Steve had no time to return it, as Bucky had pulled away as swiftly as he had approached. Two sets of wide blue eyes stared at one another, and when the blond opened his mouth to speak, the other man spun on his heel, retreating to the kitchen with all haste. His shot glass was still in hand, and he left the occupants of the room in stunned silence.
"I take it that doesn't happen very often," whispered Hank sotto voce to his sister eventually. However, it was the captain who answered him, shaking himself out of his shocked state.
"Not for decades," he intoned, a pleased light dawning in his eyes even as he cast his gaze to the ground. "But it's good."
"More than good, Steve!" Lisa interjected, practically vibrating as she fanned herself. "Ahh, I'm excited!"
"Another grandbaby for her to spoil," Paul murmured, regarding his wife affectionately and chuckling. Getting up from the chair, he scooped his daughter into a fast hug, breaking it off in time to extend his hand to Steve. "Congratulations."
The furor in the living room took a little time to die down, but once it did, Steve extracted himself from the space, following his friend's path into the kitchen. There he stood, elbows leaning on the island and the overhead lights on, glaring across the glass in hand. Bucky stared at it for several long seconds, before setting it down neatly and reaching for the bottle of whiskey he'd found in the cupboard. Pouring himself a shot, he glanced over his shoulder, raising it in a toast to his friend. His smirk was strained, but Steve managed to return it.
"Uncle," he mumbled, drinking his shot and letting the warmth of the liquor course down his throat. The captain circled to the opposite side, going right to the cabinet and fetching a tumbler for himself. Taking up the bottle, he poured himself a healthy glassful, tipping the tumbler in his friend's direction and grinning.
"Uncle Bucky," he replied firmly, ice blue eyes never wavering. No matter what horrors were committed, no matter what atrocities his friend had been forced into performing, Bucky Barnes was his family, his brother in bond, and nothing would change that. He was family, and he would be a part of their lives, all their lives, for the foreseeable future. Sipping from his glass, he heard a snort come out of his friend as he took back the bottle.
"I knew you were hiding something, punk," he remarked smartly, another shot poured and drained into his mouth. Steve rolled his eyes as he leaned his elbows on the counter's surface.
"You still made me squirm, jerk," he tossed back, another swallow going down his throat. Tapping his free hand on the island's edge, he went on, "We haven't told anyone else yet."
Bucky raised an eyebrow at that. "Planning on keeping it that way for much longer?"
"From the public, yes, for as long as we can." Steve's gaze slid sideways, and he sighed. "The team, though, they'll know soon enough."
"Daddy Rogers. That's gonna take some getting used to," the other man told him, both of them sporting wide grins. Bucky's drooped as he considered something, his stormy gaze meeting his friend's squarely. "How's it going to work? With being Captain America and all?"
At once, the joy in Steve's face lessened, his focus drawn to a point in the distance. It was a fair question, one that he was still seeking an answer for. The glass in his hand was twitched and turned as he thought, the lines in his forehead becoming more pronounced.
"I'm working on it. Got some time to get things straightened out before the baby comes," he confided starkly, raising the tumbler to his lips and draining the cup dry. The whiskey burned on the way down, the flush and pricks of it coating all the way down to his stomach. Determination overrode the doubt in his eyes, his stance becoming rigid. "I'll find a way. We'll find a way."
"Famous last words," a voice floated in, and the captain looked over in time to watch his brother-in-law walk in.
"Thanks, Hank," Steve muttered sarcastically. Tipping his head towards the bottle already out on the counter, he asked him, "Ready to break in your glass?"
"Oh, yeah," the other man confirmed, taking a spot next to Bucky as he poured into his own shot glass. Swiveling his head towards the arch, he called out, "Want in on this, too, Dad?"
"Which one are you talking to?" Paul cried back, the three men in the room cringing at his poor joke. Entering the room, he cupped a hand in the air, circling the island to retrieve his own glass. "Sure."
Wandering in to see what they were all up to, Lisa snickered, deciding to grab a cup for herself and join in. Holly entered behind her mother, eyes rolling heavenward at the company indulging in drink.
"Oh sure, keep boozing it up," she growled, little actual venom in her voice. Fetching a bottle of flavored water from the fridge, she moseyed up to Steve, shooting his glass a significant look. "Rub a little more salt into the wound, why don't you?"
"It's Irish whiskey, anyway, doll," he retorted, chuckling as her face scrunched in mild distaste. Even if she could drink, she was not a fan of the stuff. "Yeah, exactly."
The rest of the shots were divvied up, the younger men just about to toss theirs back when Paul held up a preemptive hand.
"Hold on," he said. Raising his hand up, the amber liquid in his cup danced. Quietly and simply, he toasted, "To family."
Steve couldn't help the smile that stretched over his lips, nor could he stop himself from bringing his wife closer to him, enfolding her in his embrace.
"What, are we all in the mafia, suddenly?" Hank wondered facetiously, pulling a face at his father's sentimental toast.
Bucky snorted, a knowing look tossed at the young man. "You wouldn't last a minute if we were, pal."
Holly nestled into Steve's side, letting her head tip back a little. "I was gonna ask when we stumbled into the greeting card commercial, but, well..."
"Just raise your friggin' glasses," Lisa commanded then, throwing a stern glare at them and bringing her cup to rest beside her husband's. It was all the captain could do to not laugh at his friend's compliant expression or Hank's glance away from his mother. Curling his arm tighter around Holly, he cleared his throat, raising his glass.
"Yes, ma'am," Steve replied stoically, the others following suit. The circle of cups (and his wife's water bottle) clinked, family saluted in a chorus of voices.
A/N: Part two of the Christmas escapades. About time someone other than Steve and Holly knew about the pregnancy, right? Anyway, a lot is going on in this chapter, so feel free to discuss...now! By the way, Bucky and Natasha are just saying good-bye in Russian, in case you didn't know. And Michael Bublé is my go-to for Christmas music now and forever, as well as Idina Menzel.
Just for the record, when Han Solo died, I did not jump and scream like Holly did. I was in such a state of sorrow and shock that I just sat there and teared up. Later, my cousin and I wandered the mall for a half hour, and our conversation consisted mostly of, "How could they kill Han Solo?!" I was so angry, ugh.
Anyway, got some fun stuff coming up in the next chapter, so hang tight for that.
I don't own anything from the MCU, nor do I own any of the pop culture references made in the text (Robo-Cop, The Terminator, Star Wars, etc.).
Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!