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Bucky figures that if there was a hell, it was 6pm on the 24th of December when your four year old God-daughter announces to her over stressed parents that her ‘secret wish’ to Santa was a Princess Perfect Pony Palace.
Bucky hadn’t even known what the fucking thing was, but by the look on Natasha’s face, it wasn’t anything good.
“Are you sure that’s what you asked Santa for?” She’d asked Anya, who had her father’s messy blond hair and her mother’s death glare. “Are you sure you didn’t ask for the flying fairy flutterbye air dancer?”
Anya just shook her head like ‘Tash was crazy. “That’s what I asked daddy for!” She said, rolling her eyes in a way that had reminded Bucky so much of Natasha growing up that he had to blink a few times to check he’d not been transported back in time. “I asked Santa for the Princess Perfect Pony Palace in my letter.”
Her little gap-toothed smile could melt the hardest of hearts, but Bucky had know ‘Tash all her life and he knew that her heart wasn’t about to be swayed by a pout and a-
“Fuck.” Natasha said, pacing back and forth in the kitchen as Bucky poured her another glass of wine. Clint was in the hallway on the phone, calling every store in a 50 mile radius. “Fuck fuck fuck!”
“I don’t see what the big deal is.” Bucky told her, passing her the glass. “It’s not like she’ll notice amongst the stupid fucking amount of toys you guys have bought her.” He seriously doubted that they’d get them in the same room as the tree, never mind under it. He didn’t think too hard about the toys he still had in the back of his truck, because he’d gone a little overboard himself. Hell, she was his god-daughter, it was kinda his job to spoil her rotten, and he only got to see her once in a blue moon.
“I should have checked her letter.” Natasha said, rather than reply to him. “But we’d already spent three months on the waiting list for the flutterbye thing to get into stock.” She took a long drink from the glass and let out a sigh.
“She’s not gonna care.” Bucky repeated. “Come on, Tash, how many times did you get exactly what you asked for at Christmas?”
The look she shot him wasn’t friendly at all. “That’s the point,” She spat at him. “We never had anything, Clint had even less.” She looked through the open door to watch Clint pace in the hallway, his head shaking as he argued down the line. “We don’t want her to have the same life we did. I don’t care if we spoil her at Christmas, she’s a good kid, she deserves it.”
In that, Bucky couldn’t really deny it. Anya was that fucking golden child, never rude, never lost her temper – she wrote him ‘letters’ in her crayons when she was a baby, colourful scribbles that he pinned to his bunk and took with him everywhere. She spoke to him on Skype, curled up in Natasha’s lap and blabbering away in baby talk till she started to form sentences. Natasha had told him once that Clint had suggested taking her to a baby shrink because he was worried she was just too good – weren’t all kids little shits?
Clint came back into the kitchen and jumped onto the counter. “They’re gonna call me back once they’ve called ‘round the other branches in the area.” He told them. “Apparently it’s a really popular toy. They don’t think there are any in stock.”
He fiddled with his hearing aids as he spoke and Bucky felt a little guilty he’d never taken much time to get to know Clint. He seemed like a great guy, loved ‘Tash like it was his damn job, and he was a great dad, but Bucky had been deployed when they’d hooked up, been deployed when they moved in together, been deployed when they got married (he’d arrived the day before the wedding and left the day after, he’d missed the bachelor party, the planning, everything but the actual event) and he’d been deployed when Anya was born.
It didn’t exactly foster a great relationship.
He knew that Clint didn’t blame him for any of that, knew ‘Tash didn’t either, but he’d been trying to work at being a better friend. Which was why he was with them for Christmas with a pick-up full of presents and guilt.
“It’s not the end of the world.” Natasha said, taking another drink and smiling at her husband. Bucky grabbed his coke and nodded in the direction of the sitting room. “I’m gonna see how she is.” He said. He was pretty sure that one day he’d not feel like the spare tyre when Natasha and Clint started looking at each other like that, but it wasn’t that day.
“So uncle Stevie took me to the zoo, and we sat at the monkeys and we drawed them.” Anya said, pulling out her sketch books. “Look at the monkeys I made!”
Bucky was sitting on the floor, surrounded by sheets of paper, as Anya talked his ear off about all the drawings she did. They were really good; she had real talent (He wasn’t biased. Some of them even looked like... animals. Kinda. If he squinted a little.)
“Wow!” He enthused. “Look at this one, this one is my favourite.” He pointed to a brown scribble with a black splodge in the middle. “This is the best one.”
Her reaction was great, she blushed pink and covered her face with her tiny hands and giggled. He made a promise to himself that now he was a civilian he was gonna make it his mission to make her that happy at least once a week.
“You are a really good artist.” He told her, and got another giggle for his efforts. Jesus, no wonder ‘Tash was whipped. “When you’re rich and famous for your drawings, will you remember your old uncle Bucky?”
“I’m not going to be a draw-er.” She told him seriously, still pink around the ears. “I’m gonna be the boss of the zoo. An I’m gonna ride the elephants around and get them to poop on people I don’t like.”
But that had been before the store called Clint back and told him that there was a Princess Perfect Pony Palace in stock. In Newton. 60 miles away.
Bucky figures that if there was a hell, it was 6pm on the 24th of December, standing in a crowded store, looking for a sales assistant.
He’d offered to go get the fucking toy, because Clint had promised that he’d get Anya ready for bed with her bath and a movie, and ‘Tash had already had a glass of wine. Bucky didn’t mind the drive – a couple of hours in bad weather was nothing compared to his normal routes through landmines and gunfire, and the truck had the snow chains on, so it wasn’t that big of a deal. The issue was that he apparently wasn’t the only person looking for help.
The store closed at midnight. Stressed parents were making the most of this – he’d never seen so many people crammed into one place that wasn’t an air-raid bunker. His palms were sweating, and he was pretty sure he was gonna start getting dirty looks from the people around him if he twitched one more time.
Then he saw it.
The bubble-gum pink box. The glitter writing. The white pony. The last Princess Perfect Pony Palace.
The thing was, Bucky knew that he was a good guy. I mean, he knew he wasn’t a saint, but he figured he was a good guy. Not a nice guy (‘Tash was dead against nice guys, whom she described as butt-hurt fedora wearing douche-bros) but a good guy.
Not the kind of guy who would threaten another guy with physical violence over a fucking toy.
“Back the fuck off.” He snapped, gripping the box with his good hand. The issue was the bearded blond gripping the other side of the box with a firm expression.
“Look, we’re both adults.” Blond said. He was bigger than Bucky by a few inches and more than a few pounds, but Bucky’d just been discharged from the army with a handful of medals and he was pretty sure he could take a muscle-bound hipster, fucked arm or not. “We don’t need to get stupid over a toy.”
“Good point.” Bucky said. “So why don’t you back the fuck away from the box?”
Muscular Blond didn’t let go – he just flexed his jaw (nice jaw, Bucky noted – the kind of jaw Bucky would have liked to get to know a little better if the circumstances were different) and glared. “I need this toy.” He said, like that was all that mattered.
“Yeah? You think I’m just standing here on Christmas Eve because I had a sudden urge for a fucking pony palace?” Bucky shot back. “I just drove 60 miles for this thing, and I aint leaving without it.”
“I understand.” Blond said, not shifting his grip on the box. “But this is the last one in stock and I really, really need it. It’s for my niece.”
“Look, buddy, I don’t care if it’s for the fucking President, I’m not letting this box outta my sight.” He squared his shoulders and glared at the blond. “It’s for my god-daughter.”
“There has to be a civilised way of working this out,” The blond smiled. Jesus, he had a nice smile too – the kind of smile that had Bucky wondering how he’d taste. Combined with the soft lumberjack look of him, checked shirt, beard that kinda made him look even more like a damn teddy bear – the whole look just worked for him. It worked for Bucky too – but he couldn’t let himself get distracted. He was on a mission. Soft looking beardy types weren’t about to sway him from that. “I mean, we’re both adults, we can come to some kind of arrangement.”
“If you think that you can take me out, let me tell you I’m a fucking Black Op’s sniper and I am totally not above using the ‘poor war hero card’ in this situation.” He warned the blond, which got him a guilty look in return.
“Thank you for your service.” He said, and normally when people said that to Bucky it felt wrong, like he didn’t deserve to hear the words, but Blond said it in a way that had him shrugging it off, a little embarrassed. “But I really can’t let that change my mind on this thing.” He nodded at the box. “I just can’t. It’s a bit of an emergency.”
“It’s Christmas Eve, dude.” Bucky shot back. “You think I’d be here getting elbowed by stressed out soccer moms if it wasn’t an emergency?”
Hot blond shot him a look that very clearly said he understood that particular problem. Around them the store was still crammed with people; mom’s running around, grandparents arguing in the aisles, lost looking dads looking at walls of Barbies while holding their phones to their ears. Bucky was pretty sure this was what hell looked like – getting tortured in some fucking cave had nothing on this. At least in the cave he wasn’t being forced to listen to some phoney version of Santa Baby where the male singer changed the pronouns in the most pointless case of ‘no homo’ he’d ever had the misfortune to listen to.
“Rock Paper, Scissors?” Blond suggested, looking just as hopeless and Bucky was feeling. He’d have to get back to Brooklyn in enough time to help Tash and Clint wrap the rest of the gifts, and he didn’t want to spend his first Christmas eve in the US in nearly 6 years stuck in traffic.
“Deal.” He said. “I’m gonna put this back on the shelf.”
“Right, I’m gonna let go of the box.” Blond said.
“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Bucky yelled at the same time the hot blond let out a: “Fuck you, asshole!”
They were on best of three when a tiny balding guy with little round glasses appeared from nowhere and grabbed the box from the shelf they’d put it on. Bucky made a grab for his jacket, but slipped on the floor, tripping up the hot blond who was about to run after the little fucking thief.
“Shit!” He groaned, the full weight of hot blond crushing him into the hard tiled floor.
“This is not exactly how I planned to get you under me.” Blond said as he tried to get back onto his feet – and then realised what he’d said. He turned as red as the fake plastic Santa faces that were all over the damn store and started a stammered apology.
“Help me up.” Bucky said. “You can get my number after we find that little shit and beat the snot out of him.”
They did catch the thief, too late to do anything about it though. He was pealing out of the carpark – an obnoxious sports car with vanity plates that read ‘Zola’. The car wasn’t quite made for the ice and snow though, and weaved in and out rather worryingly.
“Fuck that dude.” Bucky groaned, fishing for his phone and pushing the number for Natasha.
“I don’t normally wish pain on other people,” Hot blond said, “But for him, I’ll make an exception.” He had his phone to his ear as he spoke, and gave Bucky a commiserating look as they both waited for the people on the other end to pick up. “Hey, bro.” He said, turning away as Natasha picked up.
“Tash, I’m sorry, I couldn’t fucking get it,” Bucky said as she sighed on the other end of the line. “I fucking tried, but this little asshole just-”
“Clint said there is another one in Freeport.” She said, cutting him off. “And one more in Elmsford, but they both close in like, three hours, so just come home.”
“Fuck that.” Bucky said, already heading for the truck. “I’m gonna get this fucking pony thing if it’s the last thing I do.”
He was half way to his car when he remembered he’d promised hot blond his number. He turned, only to see the guy jogging to his own car – an old restored ford pick-up, bright red. He shot a look over his shoulder and waved. “There’s another one in Elmsford!” He called, before climbing into his truck.
Bucky decided to go for the one in Freeport. Let the guy make his nieces Christmas something special. He waved back, grinning. He might not have gotten his number, but he kinda felt like he’d done his part for Christmas.
“Clint’s brother is gonna come over in the morning before Anya opens her gifts.” Tash told him as they wrapped up the last of the gifts. “He’s been a total lifesaver for us since he moved back – you’ll like him.”
“Yeah?” Bucky said, non-committally. “I met your bro at the wedding, didn’t I?” He didn’t think much of the guy. He got drunk and passed out in the corner.
“Nah, you’re thinking of Barney. Steve wasn’t at the wedding. He wasn’t able to make it – work – he was an animator at Shield Arts before he moved back here. Works for Stark Studios now, better hours, stuff like that.” Clint waved his hand in the air. “Had him going all over for the pony palace too.” He laughed. “Poor dude was gutted you got it before him.”
“We had a bet going.” Natasha said, carefully writing out the tags ‘from Santa’ in a glittery gel pen – which was something he’d never thought he’d see in the whole of his life. Being a mom had changed her. “I won,” She grinned wolfishly, reminding Bucky she hadn’t changed that much.
“Sounds like a stand-up guy.” Bucky agreed. “Going all over the fucking country for a toy.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Natasha agreed, rolling her eyes. “You’re a saint, James.”
“Don’t you forget it.” He smiled at her.
The scream that woke him was sharp and sudden, and Bucky was on his feet before his brain switched on to what was going on. Swaying slightly, he ran through the mental list. He was in Natasha’s spare room, he was safe. The scream was not one of fear or danger, but of excitement. Anya. He was in America.
“Uncle Steve!” The scream was clearer now he wasn’t asleep. Carefully, he put the knife back into the sheath, and placed it back into the hiding place between the wall and the headboard. He knew Natasha wasn’t happy about him keeping a knife in the house, but she understood that he’d put it in a place where Anya wouldn’t be able to get to it – she understood that her best friend needed it to feel safe.
He pulled on his jeans and the same t-shirt he had on the day before, and left the quiet of his room. He didn’t bother with trying to get into the bathroom, he was sure his teeth weren’t about to fall out if he neglected brushing for one morning, and he really, really needed coffee after spending most of the night wrapping Anya’s gifts. He was pretty sure her parents were single handily trying to keep the economy afloat with the amount of gifts that they’d bought their kid.
He skipped the living room and headed directly for the kitchen, and the smell of fresh coffee – pulling his hair back into a rough bun as he walked. He could hear Anya skipping around the room in excitement as Natasha told her that had to wait until everyone was through to watch her open the gifts she’d got. Bucky made a mental promise he’d just get one cup and go through rather than drink it in the kitchen.
“Morning dude.” Clint said, handing him a hot mug as soon as he padded through in his bare feet. “Thought you might need this.”
“Dude, you are a lifesaver.” He said, blinking down at the mug in his hand. Steaming hot coffee looked up at him from the mug and he found himself smiling. “I take back everything I ever said about you.”
“Uh-huh.” Clint laughed, and then lifted the coffee pot to his lips and drank directly from the glass. “Awww, coffee.” He sighed after taking a liberal swig.
“You disgust me.” Bucky told him, taking a long drink of his own.
“Hey, Clint, you wanna make a-” Someone said from behind Bucky, and... no...
Turning slowly, he found himself looking up at hot blond, who was looking at him like he’d seen a ghost. He was wearing another checked shirt, unbuttoned to show off the (very) tight white tee underneath, a pair of faded jeans. Bucky remembered he’d skipped brushing his teeth, his hair – and he was wearing the same clothes he’d been wearing the day before. Fuck, he had a pair of tight jeans and a clean shirt upstairs... if he could stomach making Anya wait a little longer to open her gifts.
“Well... uh,” He said, not really sure what he was supposed to say.
“Oh, shit, sorry.” Clint said. “Eh, Stevie, this is ‘Tash’s best bro Bucky.” He waved a hand at Steve. “Bucky, this is my actual bro Steve.”
“We’ve met.” Bucky said, and he couldn’t quite help the smile that tugged at his lips.
“Can I be a flower girl?” Anya asked, when her parents told her that her Uncle Steve and her Bucky were going to get married.
“Well,” Clint said, leaning back on the couch. “That was easier than I was expecting.”
“We raised a very liberal kid.” Natasha noted. “Although I’m not sure how we’re going to explain that neither Bucky nor Steve is going to wear a poufy white dress.”
“She does seem to think that’s what makes it a wedding.” Clint agreed.
Anya wore the poufy white dress, which was good enough for her.