December 23rd-Recommended music: Christmas Time is Here-Peanuts Gang

"Bucky, I have such a treat for you today," Sister Mary Helen exclaimed that morning after breakfast.

"What is it?" he asked curiously. In spite of how drained he had been after his afternoon of confession the previous day, he'd managed to sleep well the night before, and had awoken in a rather good mood that day. What sort of a "treat" could she have for him?

"One of the parish families has donated a Christmas tree to us," she exclaimed happily. "There is a tree stand and all the decorations we'll need down in the basement. Would you be able to bring them up and set the tree up for us?"

Bucky smiled and nodded his head. Now that he felt safe and welcome in his current surroundings, he felt like getting into the Christmas spirit. "I'll work on it right now."

The tree was on the back porch, sitting in a bucket of water. He left it there while bringing up all the boxes of decorations from the musty basement he'd been sleeping in just a few nights previously.

He set the boxes down in the living room area and set up the tree stand in the center. It took some time to wrangle the tree from the porch into the living room and then to get it standing upright in the stand. Fortunately his metal arm was strong enough to hold the tree upright while he worked on tightening the stand's screws. Unfortunately, he ended up getting sap on his prosthetic hand, and had to deal with pine needles and tinsel sticking to it for the next several hours.

"Oh, Bucky, you look so festive," Sister Mary Helen said with a laugh when she saw the strands of tinsel dangling from his arm. "Maybe we should put the angel on your head instead of atop the tree…"

Bucky rolled his eyes and ducked out of the way when she held the angel out towards his head. He took it out of her hands and set it on the mantle above the fireplace. "Maybe next year," he said lightly.

After the tree had stood for a while and the branches had settled into place, the nuns gathered around it and directed Bucky in how to decorate the tree. "A little to the left," Sister Mary Adelaide called out as he held up a red star ornament. "Just a little more…There!" she cried when he'd reached the spot she'd had her eye on. Sister Mary Constance had already instructed him in where to drape the lights that he had spent nearly an hour untangling. Now she was holding out ornaments, one at a time, for Bucky to hang.

Sister Mary Helen sat in a chair, looking amused. "Don't abuse the poor man!" she called out to the other women.

"This, coming from a woman who hours before tried to decorate me like the tree," Bucky replied. He laughed, for the first time since he could remember. With a wave of his hand, he shook his head. "It's all right, I don't mind." He was relishing the sense of fun and lightheartedness, something he had not experienced for a very long time. He was patient with the nuns, and indulged all of their demands.

Once the tree was decorated, the last thing to do was to place the angel on top. A step ladder aided in reaching the highest branch and when he stood back and admired his handiwork, he liked what he saw. A bright, festive green tree covered in multicolored lights and a plethora of ornaments, both homemade and store-bought. Each one had a story behind it, no doubt. There was history on this tree.

The rest of the boxes contained decorations for the room and after a few minutes, Bucky set about putting them up around the living room area. There were holly boughs for the fireplace mantle, and he hung up the red and white stockings for each of the women. Candles dotted the tables and other surfaces and he strung a strand of plastic icicles across the large picture window.

The women oohed and aahed and commended Bucky on his handiwork while he lit a fire in the fireplace. "Thank you, ladies. I'm happy to help out," he replied before following Sister Mary Helen into the kitchen to help prepare eggnog for the group.

"So, tomorrow is Christmas Eve," she said casually while Bucky poured bourbon into a bowl of chilled eggnog. "What do you want this year?"

Bucky thought for a moment. He'd never imagined that he'd be living somewhere safe and have people he enjoyed being around at Christmas, so he'd never entertained the idea of a present. Not being caught by HYDRA and having a full stomach were his main goals in life, and if he could manage that, he didn't need anything else. Finally, he shrugged his shoulders. "I have no idea," he answered honestly. "I have food and shelter now, and safety. What else does a man need?"

Sister Mary Helen smiled. "You know, I sent out some Christmas cards a couple days ago," she said, seemingly changing the subject. "I have a few friends from over the years that are still alive and I like to stay in contact with them, especially during the holidays."

Bucky set the bourbon bottle down and picked up a wooden spoon to stir the drink. "That's nice," he said before taking a sip to see if the flavors were right.

"One of them was to Steve…" Sister Mary Helen continued in a casual tone. She had told him about meeting Steve a couple years ago upon his return and how they had corresponded with one another ever since. "Nobody writes letters anymore, but he does."

Bucky smiled. "That's good," he replied as he began to ladle out cups of eggnog for everybody. "He's always been courteous that way."

She nodded her head and accepted the glass he held out to her. "He's a good boy," she said after her first sip. "I do hope he's enjoying the holidays this year. It sounds like with SHIELD's collapse, there's a lot to keep him busy."

Bucky sighed at the role he'd played in all of that. He was trying to take Sister Mary Helen's advice to forgive himself, but it would take time. He poured out the rest of the eggnog into cups and brought the tray into the living room to serve everybody else.

When everybody was contentedly sipping their drinks, Bucky sat down on a chair by the window and looked out at the snow that was still falling. He listened to the stories the women told of their childhood Christmas memories, and even added a few of his own. Christmas at the orphanage had been meager, especially during the Depression years, but it has still been fun and special. Sometimes the only present he had gotten was an orange or a banana, but he remembered them being the most delicious things he'd ever eaten. It was nice to be around people who understood that and didn't look at him strangely or pity him for not having had as luxurious an upbringing as they'd had. He didn't need pity or guilt directed towards him. It made him feel uncomfortable.

For once though, his memories were happy, and he enjoyed thinking about them. They weren't extraordinary, but they were his. They were untouched by the war, by Zola, by HYDRA; they were pure and true. He relished them.

It was memories of his childhood that filled his mind that night as he drifted to sleep in his warm bed.