Chapter Text
Darcy has had a lot of Christmases away from home. Sometimes it was because of flights to her parents' town being too expensive. Sometimes it was Jane had Super Serious Science going on that couldn't possibly pause for a silly thing like the biggest holiday of the year. This year it's because her parents are going through a particularly nasty divorce and she has no intention of letting them continue trying to guilt her into hating the other.
The thing is, even when she couldn't be home for Christmas, Darcy always made Christmas wherever she was. She filled her shitty dorm room with gaudy dollar store decorations. She strung hundreds of lights both inside and out of the tiny trailer she and Jane had lived in. It's always Christmas music blasting and hot chocolate at the ready and Home Alone and Die Hard queued up on her laptop. Now that she has a proper grown up's paycheck, she's using it to deck the hell out of her apartment.
Tony had offered to have it professionally decorated (probably because he's trying to get back in Jane's good graces after "accidentally" knocking over a whatchamacallit), but Darcy ain't no decorating damsel. She's going to do this by her damn self, she's going to have fun, and it's going to look amazing.
Darcy's at Target, cart full of ornaments, tinsel, and decorations, musing on whether Natasha likes Twix Santas or not. Clint can be seen demolishing Reeses Trees by the truckload and Bruce has a soft spot for Almond Roca, but she doesn't know if Natasha even really craves candy. Or maybe she's more into Russian sweets? Her thoughts stray to Bucky, as they often do, when she realizes this is really his first Christmas out from Hydra's control and not on the run. When was the last time Bucky celebrated a Christmas? Before the war? It makes her chest ache.
Steve is off at an unspecified location on an unspecified mission for an unspecified amount of time, but Darcy has the impression that it'll go well into January. So what is Bucky going to do? Skulk around the tower? Pretend everything's fine? Disappear to Brooklyn for a few days and mourn over how different his home is? Not fucking happening.
Darcy straightens her shoulders, putting on her game face. Operation Give Bucky Barnes a Good Christmas is a fucking go.
Tony gave her a driver for the day (see: trying to win over Jane) so she doesn't have to take the subway with six shopping bags, thank god. She loads them all in the trunk with the driver's help before climbing into the car. Mr. Joe the Driver isn't as cool as Happy and doesn't let her sit in the front seat, so she relaxes in the back with the heated seat on (she likes her buns toasty, thanks), plotting.
The thing is, Bucky can't think it's pity. He doesn't respond well to that, as Steve and Natasha quickly learned. She isn't doing this out of pity, but she wants there to be no mistaking that. That's where phase 1 comes into play.
After she hauls her shopping bags back to her rooms, she heads to the shooting range where JARVIS tells her Bucky is with Clint. That's not unusual. They've struck up an odd friendship and Clint says they're brainwashing buddies, which makes Bucky look a bit constipated.
Darcy being in the range isn't all that unusual (she likes to watch the frighteningly competent people, so sue her) so they give her a nod before they turn back to their targets. She settles in to watch, sitting on one of the chairs lining the wall, next to their bags. They're using bows today, each trying to outdo the other. Typical. She watches for a bit, smart enough not to interrupt, until they start packing their things away.
"The testosterone seepage in here is ridiculous," she says conversationally.
Clint snorts, looking over his shoulder as he closes his bow case. "You love it, otherwise you wouldn't be here so much," he says.
She shrugs, completely unrepentant. She walks over to them, linking her arms with theirs. "I'm co-opting you two into my Christmas cookies plans," she says. She tries to steer them out of the room and gets exactly nowhere, unsurprisingly.
"What makes you think we would want to?" Clint teases.
"Because you both like eating cookies and you want me to be happy and it will be fun," Darcy says, tugging at their arms.
"She makes a strong case," Clint says solemnly, looking over her head to Bucky.
"I'm not missing cookies because of you," Bucky says, letting Darcy tug him forward. Clint follows, like she knew he would, because he's never one to miss baked goods.
Darcy already has dough ready in her fridge that she'd made this morning, so all she has to do is show them how to roll the dough flat. Bucky's is perfect, but Clint somehow manages to make it too thin, then too thick, then gives up completely. Darcy has a sneaking suspicion he's faking being bad at it so he can sit and eat frosting, but there's no proof.
She hands Bucky an ornament-shaped cookie cutter while she take the reindeer. She's well aware these are probably going to be misshapen lumps, but that's the fun part. She bats Clint's hand away from the frosting more than once. The first time Bucky does the same, she laughs so hard it almost hurts.
Darcy was totally right and the cookies come out ugly as hell, but that's the best part! Bucky snags one before she can put them on the cooling rack, smirking as he eats it. She glares at him, but it's a weak, fake thing.
None of them are patient enough to wait until the cookies are completely cool before frosting them. She'd honestly thought she'd get more opposition from them over the whole cookie decorating thing, but she thinks neither of them have really had a slice of normalcy in a while, and that's something she can provide.
The cookies won't be winning any beauty contests soon, but Bucky had smiled throughout a lot of the afternoon, and she counts that as a win.
One thing she'd have loved to do isn't really possible in New York City. In her hometown, with sprawling suburban lawns, she and her cousins would drive around looking at all the Christmas lights displays. There aren't exactly a lot of lawns near the tower, and even if there were decorations to look at, driving slow in the middle of the city to take it all in seems like a way to get rear ended very quickly.
So she can't do that. She can decorate the common areas, though, and that's something. That's how phase 2 sort of happens by accident. She's in the kitchen with Thor, sitting on one of his shoulders as she hangs ornaments on clear strings from the ceiling. Thor is a bit confused about Earth Christmas celebrations, but he enjoys the decorations, music, and Darcy's enthusiasm. He's more than happy to help her decorate, which is perfect because he doesn't get sore holding her up for a half hour at a time.
"A little to the left...perfect," Darcy says, pressing the pin into the ceiling to keep the ornament in place. "Okay, lights next."
Darcy has her hands above her head, stringing lights around the circumference of the room when Thor's loud voice says from near her hip, "Good afternoon, Barnes!"
Darcy squeaks in surprise and almost falls off his shoulder, Thor's quick reflexes and her death grip on his other shoulder the only things keeping her on her perch. She looks ridiculous, sitting on Thor's shoulder, bent over with her tits pressed against his head as she grips the other shoulder to keep from falling over. Bucky is looking at her with amused eyes. She sticks her tongue out at him and carefully sits up straighter.
She hadn't expected to see him today. Last she'd heard, he and Natasha were going to be out for the day, otherwise she'd have invited him to help decorate. She doesn't know if he would have accepted, but she would have tried.
"Thor, Darcy," Bucky says with a nod. He walks past them, pulling a container of yogurt out of the fridge. He fishes a spoon from the silverware drawer and turns to look at them. "You know, Tony offered to pay someone to decorate."
"You bite your tongue!" Darcy says. "They wouldn't do it right!"
Bucky hides his smile by taking a bite of his yogurt. But it was a smile so it's a win for Darcy.
Bucky watches for the next ten minutes even after he's finished eating, giving opinions when Darcy asks if ornaments are spaced too far apart, if the lights are hanging unevenly. Then Jane comes skidding into the room, eyes wide and frantic.
"Thor!"
Thor turns at her voice with no notice, barely giving Darcy the time to balance. Bucky stands abruptly next to her as she teeters, ready to catch her if she falls.
"Are you hurt?" Thor asks.
"What? Oh, no," Jane says. "I need you to verify something for me about Asgardian tech."
"Of course," Thor says, then turns to Bucky. "Barnes, if you would."
Before Darcy or Bucky can ask what he means, Thor's reaching up and gripping Darcy's waist, transferring her from his shoulder to Bucky's. She squawks in alarm but Bucky doesn't let her fall, one arm coming up to steady her waist, the other wrapping securely around her legs dangling against his chest.
"Thor!" Darcy says, gripping tightly at Bucky's hand on her waist. He flinches a bit, like he hadn't realized he was holding her with his metal arm, but she just tightens her grip. She doesn't care that it's metal but she will if she falls. "A little warning next time!"
"Sergeant Barnes would never let you fall," Thor says with a cheeky grin and a wink (she hates how perceptive he is, ugh) before following Jane out of the room.
There's a beat of silence, both Darcy and Bucky saying nothing in the wake of Thor and Jane's departure. Darcy is expecting Bucky to put her down and slink out of the room, like he tends to when he gets overwhelmed, but he doesn't. He clears his throat and says, "Lights?"
Darcy's shocked enough that it takes her a second to realize what he means. "Yes! Lights!" she says. "I have to finish the ones around the room then put some on top of the cabinets.
Bucky nods and takes her to where she and Thor left off, a string of lights hanging off a command hook near the ceiling. She's shocked but is never one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Bucky holds her steadily as she strings lights around the rest of the room, walking back to the table to gather more lights when she needs them.
"You can put me down if you need a break," Darcy says when they've been at it for a good half hour.
"I'm fine," Bucky says, handing her another strand of lights from the counter.
"Are you sure? Lactic acid builds up in super soldiers' arms, too," Darcy says.
"Are you sure about that?" Bucky asks and that makes Darcy pause because no, no she isn't.
"Yes?" she says.
Bucky snorts out a laugh and stands next to the fridge so she can arrange lights on the top of it. She still has no idea if he's telling the truth. She'll have to ask Steve. The look on his face when she asks if super soldiers have lactic acid issues should be good.
It takes another fifteen minutes before the lights are done. Bucky crouches slowly, letting her slide off his shoulder, arm guiding her down until he's sure she's standing on her own. She absolutely doesn't think about how firm his body felt against hers, how she'd be thrilled to have her ass pressed against him in another context, not at all, nope. She irrationally misses touching him even though it's only been a few seconds. Bucky looks a little unsure now, like he doesn't know if he should leave or not, and no, she's not done with him yet.
"Thanks for your help, that would have sucked trying to do alone," Darcy says. "I'd ask you to help me decorate my tree but that's a precision operation." He looks at her flatly. "Right, okay, you have experience with those, fair. But I am very particular about it and it's a side of me you really don't want to see." She seriously hopes he knows she's kidding.
"I spent the majority of my early life trying to keep Steve from getting beaten up in back alleys or playground fights," Bucky says. "I can handle you being a dictator about Christmas ornaments."
"Don't say I didn't warn you," Darcy says. "And Steve told me about the fight you started at Coney Island by the ferris wheel, buddy. Your innocent act fools no one." He just smirks.
Ha. Success. And that's how Bucky came to be standing in her living room, wide eyes traveling between the tall, fat Christmas tree taking up a good quarter of her living room and the impressive stack of ornaments stacked on her coffee table and flowing on to the floor.
"I warned you, Barnes. No takes-backsies," she says.