Archive of Our Own ^beta

“He’s not here yet.”

Sam stares out the window for the tenth time in as many minutes and gives a heavy sigh, letting the blinds fall back into place and turning around to look at T’Challa pointedly. He’s seconds away from tapping his foot like a ‘can I speak to your manager?’ mom before a car door slams loudly and he whips back around to look. He can’t help but groan as he sees some relatives from the family next door piling out of a car and rushing in from the snow.

“He’s not here yet, man,” he repeats, turning back to his friend and waiting for some sort of reply. T’Challa, however, only continues to click away on his Mac and doesn’t so much as look up from his Very Important Business. He only pauses to stroke one of the cats as it walks by, before he’s back to click, click, clicking. It’s Christmas, and he’s still being Mr Wall Street! “Dude !”

“Yes?”

“Panic with me, why don’t you?!”

“My friend-“

“Don’t you “my friend” me!” Sam snaps and for a second he’s pretty sure he’s channelling his mother. “James isn’t here yet, we’re supposed to be there in, like, ten minutes, and if he bails again- I don’t even know! My life won’t be worth living.” Sam always has had a flair for the dramatic. “If she’s gotten all dolled up again and I have to tell her that he’s not coming - on Christmas, no less, for her Christmas dinner - she’ll kill me. Not him, me !” Sam turns around without waiting for a reply and takes up his spot at the blinds again, keeping an eye out for any movement that isn’t a neighbour, a cop trying to earn some extra cash, or yet another family trying to squeeze into an apartment that ain’t gonna fit them. “Maybe he’s caught in traffic, huh? Christmas Day traffic? Or maybe he’s fell into a giant sinkhole that we haven’t heard about?”

Sam’s not usually so…highly strung, but this is big. This is, like, A Thing . It’s one of those milestones in a relationship and it’s scaring the fucking shit right outta him. Quite literally!

It doesn’t help that this is the third time he’s prepared himself for introducing James to his ma; hopefully it won’t be the third time he has to tell her that he’s not coming. (“He’s sick, mama,” he had explained the first time, which Sam had believed because he didn’t understand yet. The second time, Sam knew it was straight up panic. He wishes that he understood that one, he really does.) Sam can still remember the look of pure joy on his ma’s face when he said he had a boyfriend that would come over for dinner. She had been so happy that he finally had someone again that she’d practically burst into tears in the middle of Target, before she’d dove into what to wear, what to say, and what to cook. (“Does your boy handle spice?” she’d asked in the middle of the clothing section while holding up a Rudolph onesie that she wanted to squeeze Jody into, “I can’t cook for those white boys who can’t handle a jalapeño, Sam.”)

Sam looks outside again with a heavy groan, puffing his cheeks out and frowning. “He’s still not here.”

Sam hears the laptop screen shut with a click and peers over his shoulder at T’Challa, his friend staring back at him with his arms folded across his chest and a slight smirk upon his lips.

“I heard you the first time, Sam," he laughs, stretching out on the stool and smiling. Sam glares at his friend and momentarily hopes that he falls out of the chair, if only to wipe that smug look off his face. "And the second time, and the third, fourth, fifth...eighteenth," T’Challa continues. All he gets in return is a questionable hand gesture, followed by another. "He has no reason to be so nervous. Your mother is a lovely woman. Why should he be so anxious?”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Sam scoffs, leaning heavily on the wooden frame of the window. His eyes fall over the dents from that time he tried to hang up a curtain rail and he remembers that he’s been meaning to sand it down and stain it again. Rosewood, he thinks. “You’re practically her favourite kid and you ain’t even hers.” If Sam finds out that T’Challa and his ma have went to the market without him again, he might actually flip. “And it’s not that he should be anxious,” he sighs, tapping his fingers on the window frame and turning around, “It’s just, uh, it’s complicated.”

Complicated is the kinder word for it. Sam still can't think too much about what James told him a few weeks ago, or he gets sad and angry all at once and wants to start punching holes into his new plasterboard. He’ll never forget the words, the horrors, that had left James’ mouth that night. James had almost shaken himself apart as he’d explained what had happened over the course of a few years, from meeting a guy who was kind and charming and gentle to ending up with the same man who turned controlling and violent and absolutely terrifying. The guy who had bought James flowers, cuddled him at night, and kissed him so gently was also the same man who had pulled his arm out of its socket, who had broken four of his ribs, and who had squeezed his wrist so tightly that the bones had buckled under the pressure. It's easy for Sam to see why James is reluctant to get into anything again (meeting the parents is a thing), especially because he isn’t naïve enough to believe that he knows everything that went down. He knows there’s more, knows there’s some things that may never come back to the surface.

“Complicated,” T’Challa repeats with a slow nod but he doesn’t push for anything else. Somehow, and for some reason, Sam is sure that T’Challa knows more than he is letting on. “Mhm, and how long have you been together now?” T’Challa asks, as if he hasn’t had a running countdown since they hit the one month mark.

All at once- Sam feels his frown turn totally upside down and a blush spreads from his forehead to his collarbones, “Five months.” Yep, five beautiful months. It feels much longer and way less than that at the same time. So many dates and sleepovers and quick drinks at their halfway point not making up for the fact that living in different boroughs is a first class bitch. Not to mention that they’ve both been busy with the holidays, James spending the last couple of weeks celebrating Hanukkah with his sister and Sam busy dealing with his usual pre-Christmas sale and rush. There's no end to the number of things pet owners will buy their fur-babies.“We’re taking it slow, one step at a time. It’s nice, real nice.”

James needs that, and Sam thinks he might just need that too.

“James is a good man,” T’Challa sighs, almost dreamily, before he’s sliding his Mac back towards him and Sam can feel their conversation coming to a close again. “You look good together.”

“Dude, we look fucking amazing together.” We are amazing together, Sam adds on silently. They balance each other out and bounce off of each other’s energy like those little atoms Sam learned about in science class, even when they’re still learning one another and still have so many hurdles that they need to get over. 

Sometimes Sam feels guilty. Sometimes he finds himself thinking about Riley and wonders if it’s okay to be this happy when he’s still gone, before he’ll look at his dorky face in the photo that’s stuck into his wallet and he’ll think, yeah, it’s definitely okay. Riley would be proud of him moving on, he’d want him to be happy, and to settle down, and to let go of what was lost. He’d pat him on the back, squeeze his shoulder, and tell him “go get ‘im, Samwise.” (They’d went to see The Two Towers for one of their earlier dates; Sam had called Riley ‘Frodo’ because he was short, hairy, and a bit of a drama queen. “Well, if I’m Frodo that makes you Samwise, Sam-u-el!” Riley had shouted across Screen 3 of the movie theatre, making everyone ‘ssh!’ him even though it was still during the ads that they’d all seen five hundred times.) 

“Wait-” Sam suddenly says just as T’Challa says his name, his eyes tracking a purple sedan that’s slowly coming up the street. It’s only when it rolls to a halt in front of the apartment and he spots James through the window that his heart gives a jump. “He’s here!” he excitedly shouts, Ebsuku flying out from under the sofa in fright. “He’s here.”

Sam practically falls over his own feet as he vaults over the back of the armchair and lands sprightly on the other side, his fingers curling around the doorframe as he swings himself around the corner and reaches the front door before T'Challa can even think about teasing him. He doesn't open it, not right now, because if he opens it now then James will know that he's been waiting for him at the window for ages. If he opens it directly after James knocks then, again, the whole waiting impatiently thing comes into play again...so he's gotta wait for the knock, wait seven seconds - not any less! - and then open the door to the man of his dreams. 

"Are you just going to stand there?" T'Challa asks from his spot, watching Sam with those judgemental arms folded across his chest again. "You must pull the top lock down and then the bottom handle, Sam, or have you forgotten how our front door works?"

"Ssh!" There's the sound of shuffling from the other side of the door before a soft knock echoes down the hallway, a silent countdown running through Sam's head (and if he rushes through five to seven then nobody needs to know). "I'm coming, I'm coming!" he dramatically sighs before throwing open the door and feeling his knees turn to jelly. His first thought is 'holy shit he's grown a beard', with his second being- "You're late, asshole!"

“Oh, that’s nice!” James laughs, turning around and giving a small wave to the driver who dropped him off. It's only when they beep their horn several times and scream "he's cuter in real life!" that Sam guesses they're maybe not just an Uber. "Uh, that's Becca.” Ah, the infamous “other Barnes”. Sam’s still not met her properly but he’s heard a lot about her, mostly in the form of terrible things she did to James when they were kids despite being a few years younger.

“Merry Christmas to you, too, Sam,” James sighs as he steps cautiously into the apartment and waves his cane from side to the side to avoid falling over one of the cats again. It’s with a relieved sigh that he gives Sam the bag looped over his arm, followed by his overnight bag that’s almost bursting at the seams. (It’s actually four nights and if that makes Sam squeal like one of those girls that used to hang outside TRL then no one has to know that either.)

“Shut up, you’re Jewish…and still late,” Sam smirks, shooing Inyanga out of the way and frowning when she gives him a harsh hiss. Heathen. "But hey, you forgetting something?"

Sam catches James' right hand before he can take another step and spins him quickly around with a laugh, brushing that damn hair away from his face and running his fingers over the fuzz growing over his guy's jawline. He's still grinning over it as he leans in close and presses their lips together softly, getting a whiff of coconut from James' hair and the scent of lavender from that fancy spray he uses. Usually it would send Sam right to sleep. "Mmm," Sam sighs contently, pulling back and nodding because, yes, the world has realigned and life is good again. "That's better. Where’s the pup?”

“With Pegs and Steve. They didn’t mind if she stayed. The cats, you know?” They kept trying to chew those big ears of hers last time.

“Mm, alright. If you’re sure.” James makes to move but Sam can’t be having any of that, catching his fingers and grinning. “And just what," Sam starts, smoothing his fingers over James' new beard and laughing when his boyfriend's cheeks go a cute rosy red, "is this?"

How dare he turn up here looking like the softest hipster prince to ever hit Harlem; Sam might as well make him a flower crown, drop it on his head, and call it a day. James only giggles and tries to dodge Sam's wandering fingers, a loud laugh bellowing out so T'Challa appears around the corner curiously. "Stop! You have an animal on your face and I want to pet it." Sam loves it, really, but first he needs to tease the living shit outta his guy. 

"Get off!" James cackles, finally succeeding in catching Sam's hand and ungracefully hauling him along the hallway another few steps. It's unfortunate that he ends up full body slamming into T'Challa and bounces back in shock, giving a wince as his strapped-up arm slams into solid muscle. "Uh, sorry, man. Jeez, you gotta wear a bell or something." James steps back again and gives a big grin as he continues. “And happy holidays. Kwanzaa, right?”

“We’re all inclusive in this house,” Sam jokes as T’Challa looks James up and down with a small smile.

“Happy holidays, my friend. It’s nice to see you again, James," T'Challa chuckles, brushing down the wrinkles on his shirt with one swift motion. "You look even better than the last time. Maybe we could say that Sam is hitting above his pay grade, hm?" T'Challa straightens up and gives another grin to his best friend, stepping closer and adjusting James’ collar that’s ruffled up from all of Sam’s teasing. "I happen to have a very-"

"Okay!" Sam cuts off, pushing T'Challa back with one hand and holding onto James with the other because he's not sure anyone wants to hear whatever is at the end of that sentence. "That's enough out of you. We, uh, we should really be going? My ma will kill me if we’re late. She’ll lock us out and let the food waft through the door to taunt us. Like, really.”

James gives a chuckle and Sam watches as his eyes track where T'Challa is moving to. “Il est drôle quand il est nerveux,” he mutters quickly, and Sam swears he gives himself whiplash with how fast he turns to look at his boyfriend, "C'est vraiment adorable."

“Il était à la fenêtre pour la dernière heure,” T’Challa replies, giving a laugh that makes his eyes crinkle and those expensive teeth shine. He shoots a wink to Sam and that only makes him want to wipe it right off his face, the other man still staring at his boyfriend in shock because he can speak French and Sam is fucking weak . “You should both be going now.” He gives another one of those fucking smirks and pats James gingerly on the shoulder. “And I definitely should be preparing for my lady, so if you will…”

Right, his lady. 

“Now he’s kicking me outta my own house,” Sam sighs dramatically, although he knows from previous experience that he absolute does not want to be in the house when T'Challa and his new girlfriend start getting handsy. Where he eats, man, where he fucking eats.

Sam is grabbing his jacket from the hook at the side and slipping it onto his shoulders, he turns to James with a content smile, “You okay to go, babe?”

He bounces on the balls of his feet and feels the relief wash over him when James simply nods and fumbles to link their hands, their fingers lacing together just as Sam takes them both to the door. “Do me a favour and don’t burn the apartment down, alright?” 

“That’s your area of expertise, my friend,” T’Challa replies without missing a beat, following them to the door and waving them both goodbye. “Give me a call if you get bored of this one, James...or you know where to find me.”

As soon as the door shuts, Sam is turning to James with wide eyes and a smile that won’t quit. “You speak French?!”

“I Duolingo'd a lot when I was in hospital and stuck at home,” the other man replies with a smile, pulling himself in closer to Sam and shaking his head. “More to the point, are we not gonna mention what just happened?!” His cheeks are a rosy red and Sam’s sure that blush is going down to his belly button, James nervously laughing as they both turn to walk the few blocks to Mama Wilson’s. “I mean, T’Challa was totally just hitting on me, right? Like, that actually happened? It wasn’t a figment of my imagination? Maybe these painkillers are stronger than I thought....”

“No, that was definitely in your head,” Sam agrees, trying not to hurry too much but they have about five minutes to walk to his ma’s before he’ll inadvertently bring chaos down on himself. It’s doable, so long as they don’t dawdle…or slip on half the Arctic that seems to have been dumped on the city. “This pace okay?”

“I’m fine, babe,” James laughs with a roll of his eyes, letting Sam guide him completely and keeping his cane tucked into the inside pocket off his jacket. “Hey, what are you wearing today?”

“Absolutely nothing.”

“Sam, that wasn’t funny the first time you said it; it’s hardly gonna be funny the twentieth.” 

“Damn, hard to please today, huh?” Sam jokes, playfully nudging James in the side so he lets out a loud yelp and makes an old woman in front of them look around in confusion. “First you want to trade me in for a richer, taller, older model, and now you’re trash talking my jokes. What’s a guy gotta do to catch a break ‘round here?!”

“Mm, maybe I want a nice Wakandan sugar daddy to look after me? Maybe that’s my play?” James suggests, and Sam’s heart breaks just a little bit. “Or maybe I want my boyfriend to tell me what he’s wearing so I know what I’m ripping off later, huh?”

“Damn, son.” James is never that forward and, for a second, Sam wants to turn right back around and get him into the bedroom as soon as possible. Maybe it’s all talk, it easily could be, but he’ll damn well take it. “Uh, jeans, new ones,” Sam starts, before he’s looking down at his sweater because he’s changed it so many times he can’t remember which one he stuck with, “And an absolutely hideous Christmas sweater that’s got Rudolph on it. His nose lights up and everything! Uh, denim jacket? That’s all. Kind of regretting it in this weather, though.”

“Layers, Sam, layers,” James quips back, and just from here Sam can see he’s wearing a cosy woollen jacket with one of those fancy Sherlock Holmes collars, a black shirt with little white and pink dots on it, and one of this grandpa sweaters over the top of that. How he’s not burning up under all that material, Sam will never know. “I look respectable enough? It’s not exactly comfortable - I swear the bottom of this shirt is at my nipples right now and I’ve had a wedgie since I got out of Becca’s car.”

Sam can’t help the loud, echoing laugh that erupts out of him and struggles to keep walking in a straight line, only just managing to stop James from walking straight into a pile of garbage that’s been left at the bottom of someone’s stoop. “It’s not funny, asshole!” 

“No, it’s hilarious!” Sam practically has tears running down his cheeks as James does an awkward little butt dance before deciding that he’s just gonna have to muscle up and sort himself out like a grown up. He has absolutely no shame as he delinks their arms, plucks his underwear from his ass, and then proceeds to try and get his shirt downwards. “You should get those things I saw online,” Sam chuckles, pulling the material down for him and tucking it in because doing it one handedly is obviously a bit of a challenge, “They’re like stockings but instead of holding up pantyhose they hold your shirt down so it doesn’t ride up. This is the future we live in, babe.”

“You ain’t getting this ass in pantyhose."

“Okay, so not the point I just said.” Sam’s cheeks are aching and he’s sure he’s full of butterflies as he links their arms again, seeing his ma’s house just up the street and praising the heavens that she’s finally got the super to fix that step outside. “We’re about four doors away,” Sam comments, swallowing the lump that’s gathered in his throat and trying in vain to push away his own nerves. It’s stupid; this is his ma for Christ’s sake!

But it’s been so long since he’s done anything like this, he’s suddenly remembering what it’s like to introduce someone to his mother. Riley had been the last person (the Tinder date that he couldn’t shake off doesn’t count) and he had been such a natural at charming the socks off anyone that Sam had no reason to be worried, his fiancé getting along with everyone and anyone so long as they were polite and respectful. James isn’t moulded from the same clay though; he’s sometimes brash and sometimes rude, and he’s always just a little messy...but he’s his, and Sam thinks he might just be falling in love with him. 

They take the steps slowly and then the stairs inside even slower, Sam giving gentle pointers of what to talk about and what to avoid like the Black Plague. (“Don’t talk about Trump in her house, she’ll eat you alive,” Sam warns, “And maybe stay away from Staten Island as well. It’s a whole thing; I’ll explain later.”) “So it’ll all be fine,” Sam finishes, letting out a breath of his own and trying to stop the butterflies in his stomach from spawning into dragons. God, he feels sick; he just needs this to go well.  “You know, considering you called out- considering everything, you don’t seem nervous today? I mean, Sarah and the kids are gonna be there as well and you just….” James is almost blasé about the whole situation. “I’m more nervous and she’s my ma!”

“Yeah, I’m getting that vibe,” James chuckles, and Sam realises right then that T’Challa was right all those times he said Sam shows his nerves outwardly. He just didn’t want to believe him because that fucker is always fucking right. “To be honest, I knocked my shoulder out again last night and now I’m on a lot of painkillers so I’m so okay.”

Sam stops dead in his tracks, right outside his ma’s apartment, and shouts so loudly that his voice echoes through the stairwell several times. “What?!”

“Yeaaaah,” James sighs out with a small, one-sided shrug. “I tripped, landed on my arm and pop-“ This little shit pops the ‘p’ and everything. “There it went.”

“You what?” 

“Calm down, Sam! I was in and out of the ER in, like, three hours - on Christmas Eve! That in itself is a miracle,” James sighs, and Sam wants to shake some sense into him because how the hell could he not mention it through all the texting they did last night. They’d spent hours messaging back and forth, talking about movies and then Facebook and then about the fact that James used to look like such a twinky-ass little shit that Sam almost wishes he knew him ten years ago. You know, for the experience. “It’s fine, I didn’t wanna worry you. I just gotta wear this thing for a few days and try not to fall over again. I’m good, Sam.” James reaches out and brushes his fingertips over Sam’s jacket, pulling him forward and pressing a soft kiss a few centimetres away from his lips. “It's not like I'm not normally in pain, anyway!"

"Is that supposed to help?"

"Maybe?"

Sam doesn’t have time to say another word before the big red door in front of them is swinging open and his mother is staring at them both with wide eyes. “What is all this noise, Samuel Wilson?” she asks plainly, one hand on her hip and the other holding the door handle like she’ll slam it in Sam’s face if he answers wrongly, “You’re gonna make the neighbours talk, baby! You know what Maitri next door is like! Bad-mouthing everyone she sets those beady little eyes on!”

For a few seconds, Sam stands motionless in shock, almost buffering as several things go through his head at once and he swears his stomach falls out of his left foot.

“Uh, hey,” he settles on, wanting to shake some sense into himself now as his mother raises her eyebrows and taps her fingers on the heavy wood of the door, “Hey, mama.” At least he still has the sense to correct himself, stepping over the threshold and tightly wrapping his ma up in his arms. He swears she’s getting smaller every time he sees her. “Merry Christmas, ma, you look great! Is that one of your Sunday dresses? What happened to Ugly Sweater Day?!”

Sam knows for a fact that it’s one of her good, Sunday dresses. In fact, it’s her best Sunday dress that she’s had for as long as Sam can remember: a nice floral number with roses of pink, peach, yellow, and red, with embroidered edges and cute little buttons that go all the way down the front. She’s even had her hair all done up. “No Ugly Sweaters today, baby,” Darlene replies, forgiving Sam for all the ruckus and holding her son tightly as she gives a holiday greeting in return, “I only bring this dress out on special occasions.”

“And meeting someone’s boyfriend makes the benchmark?” Sam jokes, pulling away and looking back to James who’s standing awkwardly behind him. He’s gone that flushed way again and doesn’t know what to do with his face, first smiling, then going blank, then smiling again, like he’s playing that silly face game with a baby. 

“Baby! It’s not just anyone’s boyfriend we’re meeting now though now, is it? And it’s Christmas, I’m allowed to dress up!” Darlene practically squeals, her hands clasped up by her chin and her eyes as wide as saucers as she turns to look at James. She gives a megawatt smile as Sam turns back to her and grasps James’ hand gently, trying to ignore the fact that his mama is grinning like a psychopath and his boyfriend is as high as a college senior on 4/20. 

“Mama, this is James,” he says, pulling James a couple of steps forward and moving to keep his hand on his lower back. “Babe, this is my ma - Darlene.” 

“Mrs Wilson, it’s really nice to finally meet you,” James greets, and Sam can only just hear the slight shakiness in his boyfriend’s voice as he stretches out his right hand and tries to keep it steady. It would’ve almost worked if it wasn’t for the fact he almost toppled over. 

“James, sweetie, it’s Darlene- and we don’t do handshakes around here!” Sam watches in awe as his mama hugs James just as tightly as she hugged him, running her hand up and down his back and being extra careful of his wrapped up arm.

That’s the beautiful thing about his mama: she’ll love everyone until they give her a damn good reason not to. She’s the type of person that Sam strives to be, the kind that sees the positive in everything and sees the good in people when it all looks like complete shit. If Sam’s half as good as her, he’ll think he’s doing okay. “Merry Christmas, baby.” She’s cupping his face in her hands now and gently pats his cheeks, James standing laughing but looking otherwise completely undisturbed by a strange little lady manhandling him. “Such a handsome boy. Look at this beard! You’re growing fur for the winter!” If Sam could facepalm to the back of his skull, he would right about now. “I always liked that. It adds character. So lovely. Yes, really nice.”

“Mama, he’s a person not a new rug,” Sam casually reminds, shucking off his jacket and moving to take James’ before his hands are being batted away by Darlene. 

“I didn’t say he was!” Darlene snaps back, before she’s brushing some raindrops from James’ shoulder gently. “Let’s get you out of this wet jacket, baby, or you’ll catch your death- and just what on earth happened to your arm?”

James gives an awkward chuckle and moves only to let Darlene take his jacket, adjusting the strap of the sling by his neck and sighing. “What hasn’t happened to it, ma’am?”

“Oh dear, that doesn’t sound very good at all.” Stepping back, she has her hands on her hips and her eyes roaming over the both of them as if she’s trying to decide which one to kick back out. “Look at you both, isn’t it lovely?” 

“Yeah, ma, it’s great,” Sam laughs, “Let’s not make it awkward, though."

“Know what’s not great?” She doesn’t even pause to let Sam answer. “You not visiting this week! Do you care to tell me why my son - who lives two streets over - hasn’t visited his mama in eight days? Do you?!” Sam instantly recoils and winces because yeah that’s a thing that happened. Or didn’t happen, in this case. “You should be ashamed of yourself, Samuel Thomas Wilson, ashamed!”

“What?! Why?! You live two streets over as well. Why didn’t you visit me?!” 

"I am a little old lady,” Darlene retorts back, and Sam can feel James shaking with the effort of not letting himself laugh. Sure, now  she’s a little old lady, but when Sam scolds her for doing too much and overworking herself she’s not a day over twenty five. “I bet James here visits his mama all the time, don’t you baby?”

“Uh, actually, uh, my ma lives in California. I haven’t seen her in a while.” Over a year, if Sam remembers correctly, when James had tried to end his own life and she'd rushed to New York whether he'd wanted her there or not.

“His mama lives all the way on the West Coast,” Darlene repeats, nodding to James and then shooting a glare to her son, “That’s a valid reason. Two blocks. Two blocks and you can’t visit me after work.”

“Fine. I’ll visit every day for the next week - for the next month! - if it’ll make you happy, ma!”

And just like that, Darlene’s demeanour changes completely and she pats Sam’s cheek with just as much warmth as she always does. “Seeing you always makes me happy, baby.”

“You too, mama.” Sam can’t help it; he’s always been a mama’s boy and always will be, and already, in just a few short moments, the earlier thrumming of his heart is slowing down and the butterflies in his tummy seem to be settling. He doesn’t need to worry, not with his ma; it’s silly for him to even think he should. “Are Sarah and the kids here yet?”

“Arrived just before you!”

It’s a chaotic mess of voices and shaking hands as Sam introduces James to another few of the Wilson family: Sarah, Sam’s sister, who’s as kind as always and is joking with James before they’ve even properly exchanged names; Jody, who’s two years old and refuses to take off his light up spaceship shoes; and Maddie, who’s six and has been wearing the same Wonder Woman costume for the past week. (As Sarah will explain later, she’s only been able to wash it in the early hours of the morning when she’s sure Maddie is asleep.) Secretly, he thanks the heavens that his mama isn’t having her big Christmas dinner: the one that involves cousins and second cousins and aunties that aren’t really aunties and long lost relatives that Sam’s pretty sure he’s barely spoken to in all his life. Hell, he would’ve bailed if that was the case. There definitely is such a thing as too many Wilsons.

“She’s not too great with people,” Sarah says softly when Maddie only scowls and pouts at James in lieu of saying anything, “We’re working on it. Day by day.”

“I get that,” James chuckles, and Sam guesses that, yeah, he really does; they’re both just two people trying to navigate a world that doesn’t quite make sense, “can I do anything to help?”

“Not really, but thank you for asking.” It’s a sad truth but nothing really helps other than time. “She’ll come to you on her own, if she wants. Don’t be offended if she ignores you for the whole evening!”

“It’s alright. I’d ignore me.”

Sam can’t help himself, “Yeah, me too.”

They fall into a steady rhythm from there, Darlene being the ever doting hostess as she gets everyone drinks (“I haven’t had help all morning, Samuel Wilson, I don’t need it now!”) and tends to dinner every five minutes. The smell of cooking food is wafting through from the kitchen and Sam is already picturing the golden turkey, the juicy, maple covered ham, fluffy mashed potatoes, and a stuffing that’s absolutely to die for. The only issue is he can’t decide if he wants there to be sweet potato pie or peach cobbler, debating the subject with James who makes the whole room silent when he mumbles that he’s never tried the latter. Honestly, Sam won’t be surprised if his mama rushes to rustle up one just so he can try it for himself.

“It must be nice to have such a close family, huh?” James mumbles quietly, handing his soda to Sam so he can rest it down somewhere safe. “Even now.”

“Just wait until they get going.” 

Sam has so many memories about the holidays - not just Christmas, the others as well - that it’s hard not to start with the stories, even if some of the punchlines are at his own expense. His favourite story is always the one when he was little, maybe seven or eight, and he was in the church nativity - he had played sheep #2 and had had a full body costume with black tights, black sleeves, and a white dress that his mama had painstakingly glued five hundred cotton balls onto. Everything was perfect, right up until he fell off the stage, smashed his face into the floor, and bled all over his sheep costume and little Julie McKinnon who’d thrown up at the sight of the blood on her shepherd’s robe. It had looked like a straight up murder scene.

Or maybe, facial injuries aside, his favourite story is the Thanksgiving directly after he had his top surgery. To be fair, it’s not so much of a funny story as it is Sam revelling in the fact that his ma and pop had demanded that Sarah go to his every beck and call because “he’s recovering, Sar!” God, Sam had been such a little shit. He’d asked for water, and then orange juice, and then coffee and then- wait, no, water again because it’s too hot. He’d time it perfectly; he’d wait until his mama was sat on the sofa next to him and wait right until Sarah had just got comfortable and then ask for something else. It was beautiful, a masterpiece if Sam had ever created one.

“Oh yeah?” Sarah looks livid at the thought alone. “Well, you remember that New Year when you were - uh, what, twenty or something?” Sarah asks as they’re all lead to their places around a table that’s meant for no more than four, Darlene ushering everyone to the appropriate spots and treating James as if he’s made of spun sugar. (“Not as fragile but twice as sweet,” Sam will say later (much later) when he’s had one too many gins and hasn’t had anything to sober himself up.) It’s almost hard to hear anyone over how loud James is laughing but the noise seems to warm Sam from the inside out, spreading from his very core to the tips of his fingers so he wishes he could record it and play it on repeat. “Sam had been out for the night - a party, whatever - but he’d left his key. Now, this is about three in the morning and we both know that if we ain’t in for curfew then we ain’t getting in, you know?”

“You did know!” Darlene shouts, “But did you listen? No, you did not! Disrespecting the rules, Samuel Wilson. You always were! You and your brother!"

“Not me, ma,” Sarah reminds quickly, before Sam’s echoing back with a bratty, “Not me, ma.”

“Anyway.” God, Sarah has definitely inherited their mama’s death-glare. “I’m lying in bed and I hear this scratching against the window so, obviously, I’m ready to call the police and start screaming.” Sarah stops only to fight Jody into his highchair, plonking the toy dinosaur in front of him and grinning when he gives a happy yelp and smacks his feet so the little lights burst into life one more. Maddie only frowns and stares at James as if he’s grown another head before her eyes. “So I get out of bed just as the windows opens and I absolutely freak the hell out…but I have this old little league bat at the side of my bed-“

“Oh, holy shit,” James lets out before he can stop himself, his cheeks rosy and sweaty from the exertion of almost ending himself laughing and Sam knows he’s about to crack up all over again, “What happened next?”

“I swing!”

“No!”

“Yes!” Sam shakes his head and sighs heavily. Sometimes he swears he can still feel the dent in his skull. “She knocked me clean the fu- clean out!” 

“One shot and he was down!” Sam’s almost concerned with how satisfied his sister seems by that and scowls at her across the carrots, watching as she wipes tears from her eyes and almost tips right off the chair from cackling so much. “Oh my, I live for that moment.” 

“Baby, you concussed him!” Darlene gently places a giant turkey right in the middle of the table and already Sam wonders if everything’s going to fit here, quickly adjusting some glasses and whispering to James that his drink has moved a little to the left. The last thing they need is another fiasco a la First Date to happen. God, Sam still cringes at the mere thought of that; he was sure he was out on his luck at that moment…and yet, five months later, here they are. “Don’t laugh, Sarah, it’s not nice!”

It’s alright; Sam will get revenge later.

There’s no more room for talking when Darlene sits down and asks them to be quiet so she can say Grace, Sam opening his mouth to point out that James is Jewish before he’s receiving a heavy boot to his shin and James’ hand is reaching out to find his own. “Heavenly Father, bless this food we are about to receive, bless our friends and family around us, bless the love that is between us. Make us thankful for these and all of our blessings. Amen.”

“Amen,” Sam replies back, a small chorus echoing around the table before they’re allowed to dig in without control.

It’s a mess of hands and spoons as everyone reaches for what they want, Sam describing everything to James and spooning whatever he wants onto his plate. Just like Sam thought, there’s everything he could’ve asked for: the juicy, sticky covered ham that’s already been sliced perfectly; the golden brown turkey that’s now sat with its legs ripped off and half its back missing because Sarah is an animal; the equally as golden roast potatoes that just a little burnt on the outsides but will be perfectly fluffy in the middle; creamy, butter-filled mashed potatoes that had to be made because it’s all Maddie will eat but Sam will definitely help her finish; beautiful honey-coated carrots that  do  still have their tops; creamy mac and cheese with little bits of chipped up bacon and (knowing mama) secret chunks of jalapeños that will give it that extra kick; fragrant, slightly charred stuffing that practically makes the meal and Sam will have no less than four (4) spoonfuls of; stinky but delicious brussel sprouts and, of course, Mama Wilson’s famous skillet-baked cornbread that no one - no one - knows the recipe to. She’ll take the secret to her grave, Sam’s sure of it.

They’re just settling into tearing apart dinner when Darlene pipes up, looking over the table with curious eyes while handing Jody one of the more mushy carrots to chew on. “James,” she starts slowly, Sam straightening up and pausing mid-chew as his mama speaks, “Why don’t you tell us a bit about yourself? We want to know who’s been making our Sam so happy the past few months!”

Okay, that’s not so bad. 

“About myself?” asks James shakily, pausing in trying to neatly figure out where everything is on the plate and giving an anxious chuckle, “There’s not much to say, really. What, uh, what do you want to know?”

“Everything!” Sam knows that when his mama says that, she means it. Riley had been forced into a Spanish Inquisition the first time they’d met, but he’d sailed through simply because it was hard to shut him up after a while. “Where did you grow up? Parents? Siblings? What do you do, baby?”

“Parents, uh, yeah- I have those.” James quickly shovels a potato into his mouth, his jaw moving fast enough that Sam hears his teeth clink together several times. He’s barely even swallowed before he’s rattling through where he grew up, who he grew up with, the fact that he used to work in security and now volunteers at the LGBT place, and that he’s currently living with Steve and Peggy but wants to move out pretty soon because he feels ready. It’s word for word perfect and Sam just knows that he’s rehearsed it several times, probably while sitting in his little apartment with no one but his dog for company. “Uh, yeah- yeah. I’m, um- I’m thinking about going back to school, as well.”

“Really?” Darlene asks.

“Really?” Sam repeats immediately after her.

James gives a nod and Sam can see him relax as the seconds pass by, his fingers gently prodding the edge of his plate before he’s pointing down to it. “Do you mind if I use my fingers? Sorry, I know it’s not great but it’s a lot easier than trying to navigate with a fork.” If only James could see Sarah ripping into her turkey leg right about now. “And yeah, well- I mean- I’m just thinking about it right now. I think I want to go into social work or counselling or something but, uh, I don’t know if they’d let me with…with my history.” James cuts himself off immediately and continues on eating, and Sam knows better than to get into right now. Then again, his mama’s suddenly looking at James as if he’s a mass murderer or bank robber right now, her dark eyes flitting between James and Sam quickly in the obvious hope that one of them will tell them what the hell that’s meant to mean. Sam’s just about to deflect the conversation to the parade when Maddie pipes up with a loud-

“Mama, what’s wrong with his arm?” 

“Madeleine, no,” Sarah says simply, and she has a look that’s reminiscent of their mother when they were both children and had come home somehow caked in mud again. “We don’t ask people personal questions, okay? I’ve told you before.”

“I’m not asking him, mama, I’m asking you,” Madeline retorts back, still not even daring to look James in the eye or talk to him directly. Sam can see her whole body shifting as she swings her legs in the chair - a nervous habit that usually goes alongside tugging at her hair or chewing on the sleeve of whatever she’s wearing - and the hard thunk echoes around the table every time she hits the chair leg perhaps a little too hard. 

“It’s okay,” James mumbles softly, even as he sinks down in his chair in an effort to hide what can be seen of his hand beneath the edge of the table. You can’t see much from the shirt he’s wearing but the harsh, thick scarring on his hand, his missing two fingers, and the fact he’s strapped up is a dead giveaway that something’s happened...and that’s the thing about kids: their curiosity will always get the best of them. “I was in a car crash a few years ago and that’s when my arm got hurt really bad,” he explains simply.

“But why did you crash?” Maddie asks, and her voice is full of such childish innocence that it’s hard to remember that the answer is horrendous. 

“It was just an accident,” James shrugs, and if it weren’t for the fact that they’re not in private and it’s not his story to share, Sam would be arguing until his death that what happened wasn’t a damn accident. “They happen.”

Surprisingly, it’s now that Maddie turns to James and finally looks at him properly, her legs pausing in their attack of the chair as she speaks up. “Mama said accidents happen when I broke my lunchbox,” she says simply, and Sam thinks everyone is wishing that all accidents were as simple and innocent as that. “Does it hurt?”

“Yeah.” James gives a slow nod and dips his head as he nervously prods at his turkey and then at his cornbread. “It hurts a lot.”

“I got a band aid,” Maddie says simply before she’s scooting off the edge of her chair and running off before anyone can stop her. Sam swears he sees the vein in his mama’s temple pop because someone left the table without permission but she doesn’t have time to get mad as the patter of little feet comes rushing back in seconds. “You need to put a bandaid on it or it will get infected.”

“Really?” James asks with a laugh, “I guess I better get on that then?”

“You don’t get on it.” The face that Maddie gives is a look that makes her mama and grandma burst into laughter, simply because it looks as though that face runs in three generations of the ladies of the Wilson family. “You’re too big for that, silly. It goes on you. I have bees, ladybugs, and butterflies - now you can’t have the bee because that’s mine but you can have the other ones. You should use both to be extra safe.”

“Baby, let James eat in peace.”

“It’s fine, really,” James assures, and the earlier awkwardness that had been lacing his voice and body language seeps out as he undoes the strap by his shoulder and lifts the sling off over his head. “Yes, I’m okay removing it,” he adds just as Sam opens his mouth to ask that exact question. “Now, where do these magic band aids have to go?”

“They’re not magic, they’re from CVS,” Mads says matter-of-factly. She’s so gentle as she slides up the arm of James’ grandpa sweater and undoes the cuff buttons of his shirt, her brow knitting together as she sees the scars and damage but shows no other reaction. “Right here.” A ladybug goes on, followed by a butterfly, before she decides that his definitely going to need another and places on her bee as well, her little face in a focussed frown the entire time. It’s only when she looks up and sees James staring off that she gasps and pouts. “Did I hurt you?!”

“You didn’t hurt me!”

“But I don’t look when it hurts!”

“I can’t see, sweet girl,” James laughs, the entire table silent as they watch the little conversation unfold. It’s so rare for Maddie to talk to anyone who isn’t her family and maybe a couple of friends, that the fact she’s even said two words to James is a shock by itself. But she’s helping him, touching him, talking to him, and even looking at him so intently that it’s like she’s trying to burn a hole right through him. “I promise you didn’t hurt me.”

“Okay.”

And that’s that. She jumps back into her chair and digs into her mashed potato like it’s her last meal, refusing to say another word or look at anyone until they’re all talking between themselves. She doesn’t even look at her brother when he throws a stubby little carrot in her direction, simply picking it up and handing it to her grandma delicately. 

The table falls back into conversation about James - finding out everything from where his favourite holiday was to what his favourite food is to if he would ever move from Brooklyn. It’s obvious that Darlene has been thinking of what to say for weeks now, putting James through his paces and calculating whether or not he’s good enough for her baby boy. She still seems to be caught on the fact that he may or may not be a mass murderer as she alludes to his past and asks “so, what’s your history?” as if that’s a perfectly normal question to be asking anyone, her brow knitting into a frown every time James just shrugs, laughs, and shovels more ham into his mouth. It’s only when James lets slip that he’s Jewish that her attention is diverted and she’s back to burning holes into Sam.

“Well,” she says with a smile, even if her face gives her away as “buffering” because what do you mean you’re not with a nice Christian, Samuel Wilson, “Isn’t that lovely?”

They leave it there and they eat and eat and eat until Sarah stretches back and complains that she’s not going to fit into her New Year party dress, Darlene complains that there’s still so much left over, Sam lets out a loud belch that he’s almost proud of, and James simply undoes the top button of his jeans before it does it of its own accord.

Despite the sheer amount of turkey and ham and stuffing and various other dishes, everyone pipes up with big eyes and curious expressions when Darlene asks if they want peach cobbler or sweet potato pie. (At that moment, Sam knows that his mama is best, most wonderful, most amazing human being on this planet and, yes, he’ll take a plate of each.) It’s in front of a showing of The Little Mermaid that they chow down on their desserts, curled up on the two sofas with Jody passed out on the floor and Maddie busy at the side colouring in while simultaneously spooning whipped cream into her mouth as she hums along to Part of Your World.

“You’re cute,” Sam mumbles softly to James when they can finally get into their own little bubble. It’s been such a busy evening that they’ve barely been able to say two words to each other, between Sarah constantly teasing her brother and Darlene grilling James it’s been…a lot. Honestly, the poor guy looks exhausted with dark circles beneath his eyes, his hair approximately seventy percent out of its bun, and his arms just sort of…flung over the sofa as if he’s been dropped there unceremoniously. It’s strange. They’re sitting side by side, their arms squished together, and Sam misses him. He misses the James that he gets when they’re all by themselves and he’s not dialling down for anyone.

“And you’re drunk.”

“I’m barely even tipsy- that wouldn’t stop you being cute though, would it?” Sam smirks, brushing back James’ hair softly and resting his head down onto his shoulder. 

It’s when he’s sitting, just sitting, that he realises exactly how lucky he is. His mama is laughing now, laughing those big, rib-cracking cackles that come out in Sarah every now and then, and his sister is shining so bright that Sam knows he’s just a lump of beat up coal next to her. Somehow, he’s okay with that. Jody’s sprawled out just next to his mama’s feet, with his chubby cheeks and hair that gets bigger and bigger every time Sam sees him, collapsed on the short pile rug because getting up on the sofa was just too much hard work. Sam can still remember that time last year when Sarah had called screaming because Jody had taken his first steps and she hadn’t baby-proofed everything yet. She’d needed a drill, a clip for the toilet seat, and a large vodka. Neat. Honestly, Sam just can’t wait to be the one to show him how make pancakes in the morning for his ma and how to dress sharp so he’ll never be teased once for his shocking haircuts or bad polka-dot bobble jumpers. (Sam’s still not forgiven his Aunt Ruth for that, god rest her soul.) 

Then there’s Maddie. Now, Sam knows he shouldn’t have a favourite niece or nephew but, honestly, Maddie may just pip her little brother to the post. She’s the one who grins at Sam with a gap-toothed smile as she shows him her pet stick insect, the one who’d rather hang out at the pet store than go to the giant toy place in the city. He sees a lot of himself in her; maybe that’s why he holds her a little higher. “Hey,” he starts slowly, nuzzling his face against James’ shoulder and sighing, “Can I ask you something?”

“You just did, genius.”

“God, you’re such a fucking brat,” Sam blurts out, completely unperturbed over the fact that there’s little ears waiting to repeat every little thing he says, “It’s a good job I lo-”

Sam swears his heart plummets down into the basement at the exact moment his mama starts yelling at him for not helping, his body leaping from the sofa instantly so he’s pretty sure his consciousness is still three feet away because holy shit he almost- well, he almost- oh god, he needs a drink. “Coming, mama,” he says quickly, and he’s scurrying away as fast as he inconspicuously can because he almost. 

As soon as he’s in the kitchen, his mama is closing the door with a small click and it’s at that moment that he knows she’s about to either: have a warm, cosy heart to heart with him, or come down on him like a metric tonne of lead bricks with nails in them. Sam really, honestly, really, really hopes that it’s the former. “What’s up-“

“I don’t know, baby, but those sleeves gotta be,” Darlene quips back as if she’s funny, waving a hand as Sam pushes his sleeves to his elbows, “These dishes aren’t going to wash themselves now, are they? Make sure you let that one soak.” She steps away only to grab a towel from the hook at the back of the door. “I’ll dry.”

“Okay, mama.” They’re quiet for a few minutes, nothing but the sound of water sloshing around and the infrequent clink of a plate being set down filling their ears, the music from the living room only just reaching them as Frank Sinatra tells them to have themselves a very merry Christmas. Sam can’t help the way his thoughts trail back to James, to how he never expected to fall so hard and so fast and how he can only hope that what he feels is real. “You got more dish soap, mama? We gotta change the water.”

“You’re in love with that boy.” It’s not a question, there’s barely even a shadow of a doubt in her voice, Sam looking up slowly and staring down at his mama who’s got that god damn knowing smile on her face. “You’ve got that look again,” Darlene explains, picking up a plate and drying it down with the polka dot towel in her hands. “I remember when you first brought home Riley to meet us. You’d been so nervous that we’d hate him that you’d barely shut up for two minutes. Luckily, Riley was chatty enough to overtalk even you.”

“Yeah, mama, that he was,” Sam sighs, feeling happy and sad all at once. 

“Yep.” Darlene leans in closer and waves a hand at the glasses piled to the side. “Be careful with those baby, I already broke three this morning.”

“Yes, mama.”

“But tonight,” Darlene sighs heavily, keeping an eagle eye on her son as he gently tries to wash out her good wine glass, “Tonight you’ve been quiet.” Wait- what does that mean? Does that mean- “Tonight, you’ve barely taken your eyes off that man in there.”

“What?! I have not!”

“Baby, you have.” It’s not up for discussion, apparently, Darlene hastily grabbing a tray and pointing out that Sam’s missed several spots. “You’re not cleaning properly, either. Your mind is elsewhere, Sam.” She pauses with a soft sigh and sets down the tray back into the water, grabbing Sam’s hands quickly and holding them close. If Sam didn’t know better, he would say that his mama was crying right about now...but she doesn’t cry over silly white boys with charming smiles. “Sam, I’m so happy for you.” But maybe she’ll cry over her baby being happy with a silly white boy with the most charming of smiles. “Are you happy, baby, with him?”

Sam thinks about it. He stops, states at his mama, and really questions if he’s happier than he was last Christmas.

Last Christmas he woke up with a stranger called Harriet who had crazy purple hair and had whispered in the dead of night that he was “cool and all” but she just wasn’t that into “it”. This Christmas, he woke up alone but had a bad angled, dark, blurry video of James trying to wrangle his dog into a onesie with penguins and candy canes on it. (“I’m not into the whole Christmas deal but I’m into the candy cane deal,” he had explained a couple of days ago, “Try and stop me. I’ll stab you with my sucked off weapon.” That had only lead to another wave of inappropriate jokes that made Sam’s sides ache so badly that he’d had to lie down.)

It’s not just now, though, it’s everything else: it’s cute little texts during the night when he’s woken up and just wants to say hello, it’s surprising Sam at the pet store with sandwiches from the deli along the street, it’s meeting up at the little coffee place near Penn Station because it’s almost at their half way point and James has mastered the route when he’s alone. It’s smiling at nothing, missing him when he’s right there, and missing him even more when he’s not. “Sam, baby?”

“Yeah, mama,” sighs Sam, bringing his hands down and nodding slowly because holy shit- “I’m happy. I think...I think I’m in falling in love with him, mama.”

“But? I sense a ‘but’ there, Sam Wilson.” Mama Wilson knows her babies, and she knows when their little minds are working against them. She’s known the tiniest giveaways in Sam’s expressions since he was two years old and broke his pop’s favourite mug. He’d hid behind the couch because big people couldn’t fit behind there; the concept of simply lifting and moving things hadn’t quite hit him at that tender age. God, he was such a little shit. 

“What if he doesn’t feel the same way?” Sam bites down on his lip and everything threatens to spill out like word vomit, turning slightly and holding onto the side of the worktop for something solid to dig his fingers into. “What if I’m never over Riley? It’s not fair to James to have him be second best to a dead guy...”

“Oh, Sam. You don’t need to get over Riley, but you do need to move on. He was the love of your life and you lost him...but that doesn’t mean that you can’t find someone else. We don’t gotta have just one love, baby,” Darlene explains, although she swears that she’ll never love another man as much as she loved one Paul Wilson, “How boring would that be now, huh?”

“Depends how you’re living, I guess,” Sam sighs, and he doesn’t feel any better. “I’m scared, mama. I’m scared of getting hurt again. I’m scared of making a life with someone and having it be ripped apart all over again.” Sam’s scared of being ripped apart himself again, of staying in bed all day, of crying his eyes out for hours on end, of barely even functioning because what’s the point when there’s not much to be functioning for. He’d lost his world that day, and he almost feels pathetic for putting so much on one person. Never again, he always reminds himself, never fucking again.

“No one can promise that that won’t happen but it’s going to be okay,” Darlene says simply because it’s true and not even she can say otherwise, “It doesn’t mean it won’t be worth it in the end. What are we remembering here?”

“No one’s my world.”

“Mhm, go on...”

“I live for myself.” 

“Yes?”

“And what I want is...” Is to go through to the living room, plant a big, sloppy kiss on his boyfriend’s face, and tell him that he’s so so loved and that it’s okay if he doesn’t feel the same way quite yet. “Thank you, mama.” Stepping closer, Sam wraps her up in his arms and kisses the top of her head, her height just perfect enough that she comes just beneath his chin. “I love you, ma.”

“I love you too, baby,” whispers Darlene back, her gentle hands rubbing comforting circles on her sons back and for the first time that evening Sam feels truly at peace. It’s going to be okay; it’s going to be okay because his mama said so and Mama Wilson doesn’t lie to her babies. She’s honest even when it hurts, even when nothing Sam wants to hear is coming out of her mouth and it makes him feel physically sick. “My beautiful boy. I’m so proud of the man you’ve become, Sam.”

“You are?” Sometimes he has his doubts. Hell, he has his doubts almost every day when he’s looking in the mirror and things still don’t quite fit. “You’re not disappointed...about- you know, things? Don’t you wish I was normal?” Not trans, Sam means, but he’ll never say those words because he’s working on being okay with it. Hell, he is okay with it...it’s all he’s ever known since he was old enough to understand what it was he was feeling. He was ready for this, for all the little changes that happened ten, twenty years ago, but his mama wasn’t. She didn’t get it like he did. “Mama?”

“You are normal, Sam,” she says, and the seriousness in her voice tells Sam not to argue back, “Don’t you ever let anyone let you believe you’re not!” 

“That’s not what I asked though, mama.”

“Well, no,” she says simply, picking up the towel and wiping down a few splashes that are threatening to roll off onto the floor, “The only reason I would ever want you to be anything other than yourself is just so you wouldn’t have to deal with other people, have to go through what you did." For a moment, a ghost of a memory passes over her features and Sam wants to crumble. "I hate them. I hate them and their closed-minded, Bible-thumping, Trump-quoting views.” She pauses only to throw the towel down harshly before it’s in her hands again and she’s squishing it up so hard that her poor arthritic bones scream under the pressure. “Oh, I want to rip their little heads off and shove them up their-”

“Mama, okay, okay!” Sam laughs, taking the towel away from her before she does some damage...then again she might be doing damage to someone else by the sounds of it. “Okay, I get the point. I’m perfect, don’t ever change, et cetera, et cetera.”

“That you are, baby, that you are.” Darlene takes a few moments to compose herself, mumbles under her breath that she doesn’t want Sam thinking those thoughts anymore, before she’s mumbling again that they should go back out before Sarah and James start getting antsy. She’s over at the mirror in seconds and sorts out her curls delicately, her fingers toying out the tugs and then smoothing out under her eyes from where her makeup has smudged a little. Sam hates how peppered her hair is now and how old her eyes look when she’s smiling; he hates how time gets the better of even the best. “Oh, baby, one last thing-”

Sam pauses in opening the door as his mama steps towards him and looks at him sternly, “Ma?”

“Sam, please tell me that James didn’t kill someone,” Darlene says in all seriousness, looking upwards as if praying to God will stop Sam from saying what she fears, “I swear, if you brought a murderer in my house I will kick that two-hundred pound of white boy out myself. Don’t you do this to me, Samuel Thomas, don’t you dare!”

“Mama,” Sam starts, a soft snort coming out of him before he’s shaking his head in an effort to clear his head and keep it the fuck together, “He’s not a murderer, or any kind of criminal! Would I even?!”

“And no white boy nonsense? I don’t want to see a video of him in a week jumping off a roof into a bush because it’s cool, okay? I’m too old for such business, Sam.” Sam wants to point out that James is in his thirties, is legally blind, has a bum arm, and probably couldn’t even get onto a roof even if he did want to...but instead he just agrees and promises to not let him get into too much trouble. “Good! Come on then! They won’t wait all day.”

Throwing open the door that cuts off the kitchen from the living room, Darlene enters with the kind of gusto that’s worthy of the stage, looking around and smiling when she sees that everyone is still as content as always. Sam swears that his heart swells to twice the size when he looks over and sees that Maddie’s taken a big step, his niece sat right next to James with a big box of nail polishes to one side of her and a box of hair bands, clasps, and ribbons to the other side. She’s added her Wonder Woman tiara and it’s hanging on for dear life around one of her little poofs but she doesn’t seem to mind, her entire attention absorbed into painting James’ nails so delicately that she’s barely even going outside the lines. 

“What’s going on here?” Sam asks with a soft giggle, sitting down gingerly next to his boyfriend and immediately grabbing his free hand. Maddie’s painting his left and it’s odd how little she’s put off by the fact that James only has three fingers and there’s a lot of scarring that could put even a grown adult off. She only makes herself be more careful though, gentler, and her tongue peeks out with every line she makes in electric orange. It’s not a colour Sam would’ve picked, and he doubts it’s a colour James picked either. “You being careful there, bug?”

“Yes, Uncle Sam. I’m being careful.”

“She’s being real gentle,” James smiles, turning his face around and it’s right then, right in that instant when the light catches him just right, that Sam can’t hold back any longer. He presses their lips together and their noses bump in the way that makes it awkward, both of them moving the same direction and then the other so they’re laughing into each others’ mouths before they can stop themselves. Their teeth clang together and Sam can taste that fruity concoction that James is drinking in lieu of alcohol, something with peach and pineapples that reminds him of sitting warm and relaxed on some beach. They can’t get too wild with themselves, not with mama sat right there, so Sam pulls away slowly and stops to watch the smile sprawl across James’ face as soon as they part. “What…what was that for?”

“Can’t a guy kiss his boyfriend, huh?”

“Uncle Sam!” Maddie shouts suddenly so everyone in the room jumps, shifting her little butt so she’s sat on her legs and about three inches taller, “You’re gon’ make me smudge!” She barely even stops before she goes on quickly. “Are you married?”

“What? No! Of-“

“Why?”

“Because it ain’t time for-“

“But why, though?” Maddie pushes, holding James’ hand steady so he doesn’t smudge her excellent work and looking her Uncle dead in the eyes. She’s plotting something; he knows that look. “Well, I think you should get married!” They continue arguing back and forth until Madeleine decides that they have to get married and that she has to wear a white dress with rainbow flowers. When James argues back that - ah! - the bride is only one who can wear white, she outsmarts the both of them and says that neither of them are brides so she gets to wear her rainbow flowered dress. She has the look of her mama when she realises she’s won, and even looks around to Sarah for a nod of approval. Honestly, Sam swears his sister is on cloud nine just because her baby is interacting and touching and making a friend. Even if that friend is her uncle’s thirty something year old boyfriend who’s more drugged than actively willing. 

As the night goes on, they exchange a few gifts (Darlene is so overcome with all the fancy journals that Sam got her that she has to excuse herself for a few moments) and tell a few more stories that take them back five, ten, thirty years. James even manages to share a few of his own before he goes all quiet and Sam knows that pain and tiredness is getting the best of him. It’s with quiet mumbles that he asks James if he minds staying just another hour or so, because it’s Christmas and he doesn’t like to leave the ones he loves too early, and James only replies with a warm smile and an ‘of course’ that only Sam can hear. They join in the jumble of conversation, talking about everything from pop culture to current events to an almost game of Never Have I Ever which Sam ends before he finds out way too much about his mama and sister. James even gets involved in a huge conversation with Darlene about books, explaining that he’s trying (albeit in vain) to learn braille but is sticking with audiobooks for now. He’s in the middle of The Fellowship of the Ring, he tells her, just before she’s hunting down every audiobook she owns and is piling them into a bag for him to take away with him.

It’s with soft goodbyes and warm hugs that they finally depart, Sam promising to visit tomorrow and, yes, he’ll try and bring James with him. James promises the same, tells Darlene that he’ll find the journals he doesn’t use any more, and Sam watches as his mama gets tears in her eyes all over again. ("I’m so happy, baby, I’m so happy," she says repeatedly in Sam’s ear as they have their last hug.) They’re saying goodbye all the way down the stairwell, a cacophony echoing around until Sam gives a loud ‘love you, ma!’ to finish it off and she finally shuts the door. Probably to cry, if Sam’s honest. It’s okay, though; Sarah’s there to pat her back and tell her to get a grip.

The snow is coming down harder and faster and more violent than ever, the streets piled high with mounds that have been pushed to the side so cars won’t be going anywhere for a while and those on two feet are going to have to be extra careful. The last thing Sam needs is for either of them to acquire a broken limb at this stage, holding onto James super tight and laughing until his jaw hurts when they both slide and end up looking like one of those online videos that just crack him up. They pass a few kids, allowed to be out this late because it’s Christmas, whose laughter merges with their own as they manage to fling a snowball right onto Sam’s shoulder. He could get mad but instead he gets even, passing the umbrella for James to hold because he means business.

“We’re not allowed to leave the street!” one of them shouts when Sam moves onto the next block and only just manages to stop himself from getting a snowball to the face.

“Well, I guess I win!”

“You know those kids?” James asks with a soft chuckle, the complete exhaustion so evident in his voice that Sam definitely feels a little guilty for keeping him out so late. His arm is strapped back in its sling once more but it's obvious that James is in pain, the pain medication having worn off long ago so a grimace has been fleeting across his features for the past couple of hours. Sam hates it. He hates seeing the way James sometimes just pauses and breathes and waits for the waves of agony to pass through him, even without the added bonus of a dislocated shoulder. James says that it's not so bad, that he's fine, but Sam knows James's three on the pain scale is his eight. 

“Nope! Never seen them in my life,” replies Sam honestly as he takes the umbrella back, gently rubbing James' back before continuing. 

They fall into silence all over again and it’s the kind that’s so comfortable that neither of them feel the need to fill it, simply walking and holding hands and listening to the snow crunching beneath their feet. The only words to come from them is quiet ‘be carefuls’ and ‘watch your steps’, each step taking them closer to the apartment and each soft squeeze of Sam’s hand making his heart clench and his tummy erupt in butterflies. His conversation with his mama is still ringing through his head but the anxiety from earlier no longer has a home, Sam trailing his eyes over James face and just-

He loves him-

But he promised James they’d take it slow.

But he loves him. He’s in love with him.

Is five months slow enough?

It’s then, under the street light right outside Sam’s apartment, that he realises something: he doesn’t fucking care. If there’s one thing he believes in it’s that you shouldn’t wait to tell someone that you love them, even when they’re nervous and scared and don’t know how to handle it. Hell, especially when they’re like that. They’re too good for each other to just let things like this pass. “James-”

“Sam-”

Their voices overlap and Sam swears to fucking Lucifer that he almost barfs, clenching his free hand into a fist and feeling the ground shake beneath him. So close yet so far , he thinks, giving a small laugh and letting James go on. “You first,” he says softly, quietly looking for his keys in his pocket and hoping the sound of them shaking doesn’t give him away.

“Can we just- can we stand here for a minute or two?” James asks, “Just for a minute.” With a gentle push of Sam’s arm, he makes the umbrella move away from him and steps out further into the sidewalk, tilting his face up and letting out a soft laugh as the snow lands in his hair and on his face. Big, fat snowflakes drop down onto his cheeks and cluster on those long eyelashes, James closing his eyes and letting it happen as a relieved, blissed out sigh escapes from the very soles of his feet. “I miss seeing the snow,” he explains quietly, spinning around slowly as he takes off his gloves and lets the snowflakes catch on his hands. Sam thinks that he’s going to catch his death from this, his mama always told him to wrap up warm in this weather, but he doesn’t have the heart to stop whatever is happening here. “Close your eyes and tilt your face up, Sam.”

“You know, I have a perfectly good apartment literally feet-”

“Shut up, asshole, and humour me here,” James giggles, and Sam lets out a heavy sigh before he’s facing up towards the sky and letting the snow fall, “Are you doing it?”

“Yeah, babe, I’m doing it.”

“Feels nice, no?” asks James.

“Feels cold.” Sam gets a snowflake to the eye and wipes it away quickly, peeking it open to look at James and turning his head completely to watch as he sticks his tongue out like a little kid. He catches one snowflake, and then other, before he’s letting out a loud laugh and moving to find Sam once more. His hand moves over Sam’s jacket and uses the zip to lead himself upwards, finding Sam’s neck gently and pulling him forward with a soft sigh. “James…”

“We can go inside now, if you want,” James says quietly, their foreheads pressed together so Sam can feel his breath ghosting across his face.

Sam nods, swallows down so hard that he hears the silly little noise he makes, before he’s letting out a shaky- “We could, or- or we could stand here and I could tell that I love you.” Sam freezes approximately 0.5 seconds after James does, his boyfriends hands tightening around his own and his breath catching instantly. “I’m sorry. I know- I know you want to take things slow and maybe this is going way too fast for you but- but I don’t want to have to wait to tell you that I love you. I’ll wait for a lot of things but I won’t wait for that.”

Sam lives with regret every day that he didn’t tell Riley that he loved him enough so now he’ll say it every day and at every moment he thinks it. He’ll say it until he’s blue in the face and even when he doesn’t hear it back, and he’ll say it when James needs it the most and he’ll especially say it when he thinks he doesn’t. And if James doesn’t feel the same way? Well, he’ll wait and maybe things will work out anyway. “I love you, James.”

“Sam…” James starts slowly and, suddenly, Sam feels as though every ounce of oxygen has been squeezed out of him. He can’t bring himself to say another word because if he does it might rip him into a million pieces. “Sam, I love you too.”

With his eyes closed, Sam doesn’t see the wetness in James’ eyes but he can definitely feel it in his own, a gentle hand brushing over his cheek so he blinks quickly and gives a heavy sigh. “Really?” he asks, bringing his hand up and covering James’ hand gently. “You don’t- you don’t have to say that just because I said it.”

“I’d never,” James grins, and that toothy smile is enough to quell the chaos that’s returned to Sam’s mind. He sees that smile in his dreams and if he can wake up every morning next to it then that would be okay too. “I love you, Sam."

The noise that Sam makes will embarrass him later. He doesn’t think twice about crashing his lips back onto James’ and his arms come around him tightly, guiding them backwards and using every cell in his body to keep them both upright. It’s like every bottled up emotion from the past few days is coming out at once and isn’t going to stop until it’s gone, Sam somehow getting them up the stairs and to the front door without either of them falling over. “Ngh, watch the stoop,” James mumbles when his foot slips a little, the salt from the streets not quite reaching the very front of Sam’s door, “Watch the stoop.”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up.” Sam’s hand fumbles with the key and it scratches against the wood of the door as he tries to get it into the lock, the door clicking loudly several times before he’s throwing it open and dragging James inside roughly. “You know,” he lets out breathlessly, “I’ve always had a rule that you shouldn’t say ‘I love you’ before, during or after sex because then maybe they other person will think-”

“Sam, I swear to god there better be a ‘but’ in there,” James cuts off, slamming Sam into the wall and for a fleeting moment he thinks he’s going to go straight through the plaster, “Tell me there’s a ‘but’?”

“Oh, there’s a but…"

They’re a mess of limbs and heavy groans, Sam only parting from James to take a panicked run throughout the apartment to make sure T’Challa has left. He’s back within seconds, touching James in every place he can reach as he swallows his moans and has James’ name on his lips. They don’t make it to the bedroom; Sam ends up sprawled over the sofa with James’ head between his legs and his own face muffled into a pillow, nothing but the sound of Sam’s pleas and James’ soft moans echoing throughout the living room. That beard...well, the beard add something special.

“Fucking hell,” Sam lets out as soon as James appears next to him, his boyfriend collapsing on top of him and shifting his arm carefully. (“I told you that it would make it worse!” Sam will scold later when James is whining in pain.) “Fuck, that might’ve been the best yet.”

“I- I aim to please,” James pants out, wiping his mouth on his half unbuttoned shirt (see, he’s a mess) and haphazardly pulling the blanket down from the back of the sofa. “Hey, Sam?”

“What’s up, babe?”

“Love you.” James finishes that off with a little giggle and Sam thinks he might burst into flames from the heat that’s radiating from him, closing his eyes and giving a contented sigh because, fuck, he hasn’t felt so happy in a long time.

“I love you too.”

Once again, his mama is right: things are going to be okay and it’s going to be so, so worth it.