Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

As always, Bucky set Sam up.

“Any plans for the holidays?” he asked in the aftermath of one of their more bizarre missions. Bucky was holding a badly disguised Santa Claus in a chokehold while Sam tied his wrists with Christmas string lights. Several children looked on in horror.

“Christmas is family time, so I’m heading down to Delacroix. Sarah’s big on Christmas traditions, everything has to be done exactly like Mom and Dad used to do.”

“That’s nice.”

“Mm.”

“As for myself…well.” Bucky shrugged with a little self-deprecating smile. “I guess I’ll just have to see what’s on TV, get some takeout, you know.” The lights from the Christmas market shimmered in his sad eyes, and Sam knew he was being played and that he did not have a choice.

Sam huffed. He knotted the ends of the string lights together and pulled on them to test the strength of his makeshift shackles. Yes, that should do. “Why can’t you just ask like a normal person?”

“Ask what, Sam?”

Now he even tried to trick Sam into asking, the nerve of that man! “Hey, Sam, wanna spend Christmas together?” Sam sing-songed. “How about that, huh?”

“Well, you just said Christmas is family time, so you obviously want to spend it with Sarah and-”

“Oh, stop, we can all celebrate together.”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude, you know, with Sarah being big on traditions...”

Just then, Torres arrived with the handcuffs.

“I might just use these on you,” Sam threatened Bucky, “and drag you to Delacroix with me.”

“You wouldn’t be able to handcuff me,” Bucky said with that cocksure grin of his and tried to stare Sam down.

“Yeah? Wanna bet?” Sam stared hard back at him and that infuriating grin.

“Er.” Torres cleared his throat. “Bucky, I think that’s his real beard.”

Sam tore his eyes away from Bucky and focussed on their captive Santa. After Bucky had removed his hat and wig and a big fake nose, he was now pulling on the beard - without success.

“Doesn’t look real to me,” Bucky said, unimpressed, and gave the beard another harsh tug, making the man whimper.

“Bucky,” Sam said.

Bucky rolled his eyes but let the man go.

Santa turned to Sam. “Jesus, just ask him out already,” he gasped, “but let me live. I’m not a murderer, I only wanted to-”

“Nope,” Sam interrupted him before it could get any more embarrassing. “No more words from you or he’s going to do so much worse than damage your facial hair.”

“You can’t do that, you’re Captain America, you, you-!”

“Like hell I can’t.” Who was he kidding, he was at a Christmas market among several witnesses. Also, that man wasn’t technically a murderer because they had stopped him just in time. And obviously they didn’t torture or execute people (not even a mercenary working for the Serpent Society who would have regarded the deaths of civilians as nothing but collateral damage on his way to enriching himself). But Bucky flashed the guy his most psychopathic grin and that successfully shut him up.

Chapter Text

“What the hell is that?” was the first thing Sam said when he picked Bucky up at the airport. Usually Bucky only brought his little backpack when he came to stay over, and then shamelessly borrowed Sam’s clothes when one day turned into a weekend, and a weekend turned into a whole week. Today, he carried two huge bags plus the backpack. “Did you bring your whole apartment? Is this your plan to finally move in?”

“Christmas presents.”

“Wait. Are we doing presents now?” He had not gotten Bucky anything. Should he have gotten him something? “Since when are we doing Christmas presents?”

“Since never, obviously, seeing as this is the first time we’re going to celebrate together.”

“Why didn’t you say something? I don’t have anything for you.”

“Well, you still got two days to think of something.”

“Like the holidays aren't stressful enough already.” Sam opened the trunk of his car and Bucky put his bags in. “I think I’m just gonna get you some houseplants for that depressing apartment of yours.”

“I put up a Christmas decoration.” Bucky pulled out his phone and showed Sam a picture of a single paper star lantern dangling from the living room’s ceiling. It wasn’t enough to make the apartment in any way cosy but it was something.

“Wow. Feeling festive, huh?” Sam started the engine. Last Christmas was playing on the radio. He immediately tuned in to another station. Bucky immediately switched back. “Hey, hands off! The driver chooses the music.” 

They fought a battle over the radio, turning the knobs, shoving each other’s hand away, the radio crackled, changing from one station to another.

“You never let me drive,” Bucky complained.

“With good reason. You’re lucky I even let you near my car, let alone in my car after you destroyed-”

There were sirens and flashing. One look in the rearview mirror showed Sam that there was a police car right behind them.

“Fucking fantastic.” He had had such a good day so far and now this. He pulled over and turned down the window. “Yes, officer?”

“Hi. I’m Officer Davis,” the policeman introduced himself. A second policeman hovered behind him. “We pulled you over because your manner of driving alerted us.”

Damn. Just why had he paid more attention to the radio and that silly fight with Bucky than to the road? Before Sam could open his mouth to explain himself and offer an apology, Officer Davis said, “Sir, have you had any alcohol today?”

“No.”

“Well, I noticed that you were swerving while driving, so would you be willing to take a breathalyser?”

As if he had a choice! Stay calm. Don’t let it get to you. Don’t let them spoil your day. But it had already happened, his good mood was gone.

“Sure,” Sam said. The second cop had already gone back to the police car to get the device for the breathalyser test.

“May I see your driver’s licence?” Officer Davis said.

Sam suppressed a sigh and took out his wallet.

Meanwhile, Bucky leant over him to stare at the policemen. “I don’t have a driver’s licence.”

“Okay?” The policemen exchanged a bewildered look. “But… you aren’t driving.”

“No. Not right now.” Bucky stared them down until Sam shoved him back to show them his driver’s licence. He already knew how this was going to play out. He could pinpoint the exact moment they read his name on his driver’s licence, and the dawning recognition on their faces. He just hoped they could skip over the fumbled apologies and the requests for selfies.

“He hasn’t had any alcohol,” Bucky chimed in. “I would be able to smell it.”

What the fuck? The policemen looked just as dumbfounded as Sam felt. He never knew with Bucky’s absurd supersoldier abilities if he just made them up on the spur of the moment or if he could really smell such things.

“And it was my fault,” Bucky continued. “I, uh…tried to kiss him, that’s why he couldn’t steer the car properly.”

Anyway, Sam was going to buy some mouthwash, just to be on the safe side – wait, what?

“Well. You better do the kissing at home, next time.” Officer Davis gave them the most awkward jovial grin ever.

“And, uh, I guess as Sergeant Barnes has already sort of performed the breathalyser test,” the other policeman said, “it won’t be necessary for us to do it.”

Wow. This was ridiculous on so many levels.

“Happy holidays, Captain.” They even saluted. Idiots.

“This is ridiculous,” Sam said once he had closed the window.

Bucky snorted and briefly squeezed Sam’s knee. “Don’t let them get you down.”

It was superfluous advice but Sam took it for what it was, Bucky trying to show support.

After that, Bucky let him choose the music and did not bat his hand away anymore.

It did not take long for the word “kiss” to appear in a song. 

“Why’d you say it? I mean, it’s not news to me that you come up with insane plans, but why kissing?”

Bucky shrugged. “Not as embarrassing as fighting over the radio, is it?”

Sam debated it for a bit. Fighting over the music sounded childish, sure. But kissing? Could lead to other problems. One of them being that from now on Sam wouldn’t be able to listen to love songs anymore without getting flashbacks of Bucky casually telling some cops that he had kissed Sam. An even bigger problem was that it made him wonder what kissing Bucky would be like. Steve had told him Bucky used to be a ladies’ man. He had never mentioned Bucky being chill about kissing guys - or in fact kissing guys so thoroughly that they lost control of their car. Another problem was that Bucky had not only planted that idea in Sam’s mind but in the minds of the two policemen.

“What if they tell other people about that incident?” Sam said. “Rumours can be harsh.”

“You know what people on the Internet say about us?”

Sam shook his head. “I told you not to google yourself.” He was not going to ask. He did not want to know.

“It is kind of interesting.”

Nope. He would not ask. No way. Nothing ever good came from the Internet.

“Do you want to stop for a coffee?” Bucky asked. “Or something stronger. I can drive us back. And then I get to choose the music.”

“You know what, this is actually not a completely bad plan, aside from you driving my car, of course, which is not gonna happen, ever. But I need to show you the Christmas pop-up bars in New Orleans.”

*

It had been a mistake to let Bucky order. Not only did he get them Christmas coffee, which meant whipped cream and sprinkles on top, but also the biggest ice cream sundae from the menu. Not everyone was a supersoldier who could eat as much sugar as he wanted. Sam would have to train extra hard during the next few days. He would drag Bucky’s lazy ass out of bed early tomorrow morning, that much was sure! Sam couldn’t afford not to be in shape. There were enough people who thought that a regular human without any serum was not up for the job as Captain America. If he was not in peak physical condition…

Alright, he was going to ask.

“Okay, fine. What do people on the Internet say about us?”

“Some think we’re a couple. Not everyone. But some do.”

Huh. “Couple as in… I’m assuming they don’t mean a couple of co-workers?” To be honest, he had expected worse. He supposed he could live with that particular rumour. That did not mean he wanted to read about it on the Internet because he could imagine the comments all too well.

“Not just co-workers, no, a romantic couple,” Bucky confirmed while stirring more sugar into his Christmas coffee. Disgusting.

“I guess this explains the heart-shaped waffles in our sundae.” The waitress must have read and believed those rumours, was the only logical conclusion.

“Nah, that’s just the sundae for two. It’s cheaper to get a big one to share than two small ones.”

“Well, this is certainly not helping to quell the rumours,” Sam said when their hands collided over the sundae, both trying to get to the good chocolate covered nuts.

“I don’t think you can quell Internet rumours.”

Sam chuckled and nudged Bucky’s foot under the table. “Look at you, being all tech savvy, old man.”

Bucky looked entirely too pleased with himself.

“A second chair!” Sam exclaimed.

“What?”

“I could give you a chair for Christmas. Then you can even invite people to your place. Totally crazy.”

“I don’t want people there.”

“But we wouldn’t have to eat on the floor next time we’re in New York for a mission. I’m getting you a chair, no arguments.”

“Aren’t Christmas presents supposed to be a surprise?”

“The chair’s colour will be your surprise. And maybe a little cactus.”

Chapter Text

Sometimes Sam thought he should pinch himself because the guy who had ripped out not only his steering wheel but one of his Falcon wings as well, the assassin who had almost succeeded in killing him three times, stood in his sister’s kitchen, making pancakes for breakfast and singing along to cheesy Christmas songs together with AJ.

Cass, who was sitting at the kitchen table, fiddling with his phone, threw Sam a longsuffering glance. He obviously found Bucky’s newfound taste for Christmas pop songs from the 80s and 90s just as cringeworthy as Sam did. And yet, Sam could not look away and could not stop smiling.

It should all feel wrong but there was nothing uncomfortable about Bucky being here – for the holidays or any time really. He could be annoying, no doubt about it, but an annoying presence Sam had reluctantly grown fond of.

“There he is,” Bucky said, whirling around with the pan and sauntering to the table to the rhythm of the music. (Why AJ thought him cool was a mystery.) “What took you so long?” He placed a whole stack of pancakes on Sam’s plate with a smug little smile that drove Sam crazy because, damn it, not everyone was a supersoldier. While Sam had almost collapsed during their brutal morning run, Bucky had not even broken a sweat. Bucky may not show off his superpowers as openly as Steve, but Sam could read his stupid self-satisfied grin as, ‘Look, I made breakfast to feed you regular human being who needs a shower after training.’

“Need a massage?” Bucky asked faux-innocently.

If the boys had not been here, Sam would have offered a choice of swearwords and then would have tried to provoke Bucky to see if he was bold enough to go through with his proposal. Now he just rolled his eyes at Bucky, and dropped into his chair. “I’d like to see you run five miles without the se–”

“MISTLETOE!!!”

At the boys’ scream, Bucky dropped the (thankfully empty) pan onto the table.

“Jesus.” Sam groaned. He had already endured almost two hours of training with a supersoldier, why couldn’t he have a peaceful breakfast? “Are you out of your minds?”

AJ and Cass were grinning their most self-satisfied grins and pointed at the ceiling where, indeed, some mistletoe was hung up. It was just a tiny sprig, held together by sticky tape instead of the traditional red bow, and almost entirely hidden behind the ceiling light.

“How’d that get there?” Sam asked.

AJ and Cass shrugged and grinned and it was answer enough.

“Really?” Bucky asked.

“It means you have to…” AJ’s grin was a mix between gleeful and embarrassed. “...kiss,” he finished softly, as if it was a forbidden swear word.

“It’s a tradition,” Cass explained hastily.

“Well, can’t disregard tradition,” Bucky said, leaned down and –

kissed Sam.

On the lips.

It was not passionate and filthy. It was not just a little peck either. It was sure and firm, and Sam could taste Bucky’s grin and the syrup on his lips. And then it was over.

AJ and Cass were making puking noises.

“What? That’s what you wanted,” Sam said. His cheeks were very warm. Morning runs and hot showers did that to you. Also, it was very warm in the kitchen, with pancakes and hot coffee etc.

“What happened?” Sarah came into the kitchen. “I heard hollerin’ but it didn’t sound like the house was under attack.”

“Bucky kissed Uncle Sam!” AJ told her dramatically.

“There was mistletoe involved,” Bucky clarified. “And Sam said you’re big on traditions. There was no other choice.”

“Oh? Well. Are there any pancakes left for me?”

“Sure, I’ll make you some.” Bucky picked up the pan and went back to the stove.

“They kissed,” AJ repeated indignantly.

“They’re both grown up,” Sarah said, “they can kiss.”

“And there was mistletoe,” Sam said. He wouldn’t mind if Cass and AJ had put up more mistletoe in the house: a chance to test if another kiss felt like that again: sure and warm and like it could easily happen again. Ever since Bucky had told the cops that wild lie, Sam had wondered. Now he knew what kissing Bucky felt like. But what about a longer kiss? Or touching each other while kissing? No, that was probably too much for a mistletoe kiss – and not the kind of relationship he and Bucky had.

“That’s the tiniest bunch of mistletoe I’ve ever seen,” Sarah said. “We never hang up mistletoe, who put it up there?” At AJ’s and Cass’s avoiding her eyes, she reiterated, “How’d you put it up there? However much fun this is, I really hope there wasn’t any climbing on the kitchen table. Especially not in your outdoor shoes. I made cookies on this table just last night.”

“Redwing helped,” Cass explained.

“Told you you can’t trust that thing,” Bucky commented while flipping the pancakes.

“First of all, he’s not a thing,” Sam said, “and also, I’m sure Redwing didn’t come up with mistletoe on his own. Did he?” He raised his brows questioningly at Cass.

“Technically it wasn’t our idea,” Cass said, “not completely, anyway.”

“Yeah? Then whose idea was it? Technically?” Sam asked.

“We only did it because Mr. Torres said you need to kiss Bucky,” AJ said.

“I have so many questions,” Sam said. Namely, why and how did his nephews communicate with Torres, and why would Torres say something like that? What had given him the idea that Sam needed to kiss someone – and that someone being Bucky? Was that one of his bizarrely wise ideas? Or had he simply read Internet rumours? Or – and that thought made Sam’s heart speed up a little – had Bucky told him something along the lines of what he’d told the cops? Was that Bucky’s go-to excuse for everything? ‘Sorry we’re late, we got distracted while we were kissing.’

“Technically, he didn’t kiss me. I kissed him,” Bucky said. “More pancakes?” He stopped with the pan in front of Sam.

There was another, more logical explanation. Torres had been present when the Serpent Society Santa had suggested that Sam should ask Bucky out. The kind of chaos villains caused nowadays!

“No, thanks, I’ve had enough. I have to go to town to get the tree. And, apparently, a Christmas present for you. Thanks again for not informing me we’re doing Christmas presents.” Sam stood up. He certainly would not be outdone by Bucky. Neither in Christmas presents nor in kissing. The mistletoe was still above them. So –

“See you later.” He threw a meaningful glance towards the ceiling and then placed a quick peck on Bucky’s cheek.

Bucky dropped the pan again.

Chapter Text

Merry Christmas! Hope you’re really taking some time off and enjoying the holidays with your family. Say hello to Sarah, Bucky and the boys (btw, still waiting for you to bring them to D.C. for some proper flying lessons).

Weird. Rhodey was already the third Avenger to explicitly tell Sam to say hi to Bucky.

“Did you tell everyone we’re spending Christmas together?” Sam asked Bucky while they were decorating the Christmas tree.

“I don’t talk to people.”

“The Avengers, I mean. Rhodey, Joaquín, Scott?”

“Nah, I don’t talk to them.”

First of all, that was a lie. Bucky sometimes still played his I’m a brooding, dangerous, tortured old man card but during the last months he had become friendlier towards the rest of the team, occasionally exchanging jokes instead of glaring them down. Secondly, how did their teammates know? Because Sam had not told anyone yet that Bucky was here with him.

Wait. There was another possibility. It seemed absurd on first thought. But Bucky’s wording had been he did not ‘talk’ to people. What if he used other means of communication? Someone who had tried online dating could very well have a Twitter or Instagram account or what was it Sarah’s boys used nowadays, Ticktack?

Sam did a quick search on google. Thankfully, Bucky did not seem to use social media, at least there was no obvious public profile Sam could find. What he did find, however, were several pictures of the two of them with crazy captions.

I want someone to look at me the way Bucky looks at Captain America.

#husband goals

What is personal space anyway?

“Nice picture.”

Sam jumped. Bucky had sneaked up on him while he had been googling and was now looking over Sam’s shoulder at the picture on his phone. It showed the two of them sitting shoulder to shoulder, both grinning widely for whatever reason, probably because someone had made a good joke.

The anonymous person on the internet might have a point regarding personal space. Bucky was so close behind Sam that Sam could literally feel Bucky breathing down his neck.

“And that’s why I told you never to google yourself,” Sam said.

“I’ve had worse things said about me.”

It also was a nice picture, to be honest. They both looked happy and relaxed and just comfortable in each other’s company.

“Aren’t you worried that your reputation as a dangerous assassin gets damaged like this?” Sam teased him.

“I don’t think it’s supervillains who post or read these kinds of things.”

Sam snorted. “But I don’t think our teammates do either. I hope they don’t. So…people just assume things, huh?”

“Guess they do. That a problem?”

“No. I guess I’ve had worse things said about me, too.”

“Good. Now are you helping me or what?” Bucky dangled a Christmas bauble in front of Sam’s face.

Sam took the bauble (it was the one with the ugly green snowman Sarah had painted in primary school) and put it on the tree. Bucky was right, they better get to work instead of googling silly things. There was still enough time to deck the tree until tonight but Sam did not want Christmas Eve to become hectic.

No matter how uncomplicated everything had been so far, he was a little apprehensive about tonight. There were certain traditions – family traditions – that were important to Sarah and him, and he did not know how he’d react if Bucky was going to be weird about it. For some reason, it was extremely important that Bucky was not going to be weird about it. Sam could not bring himself to say something until Bucky asked him.

“So, what’s the plan for tonight? Any Wilson family traditions?”

“Actually, yes, there are. No, put this up further on the left.”

Bucky removed the angel and fastened it on another branch of the tree. “Like this?”

“No, further up.”

“Here?”

“Too high.”

Bucky squinted at Sam. “Now you’re just messing with me. You like bossing me around, don’t you?”

Sam couldn’t exactly deny that last statement but, “That angel is important, okay? It’s a gift from my great-aunt Ella, you could say it’s a family heirloom. Should I just get Redwing to assist me if you’re not up for it?” Redwing currently sat charging in Sam’s room and wasn’t up for any help but, well. Bucky might know how to play Sam, but Sam knew how to play Bucky just as well, and having him compete against Redwing always worked.

Bucky grumbled but let Sam boss him around some more. Once the angel was on the perfect spot, Sam said, “So, Christmas Eve. We usually go to church in the evening. My Dad was a man of Faith and, when Sarah and I were kids, we went to church regularly. I mean, I’m certainly not someone who attends every Sunday, but church on Christmas Eve is still important, but it’s totally fine if that’s not your thing – you can just, I don’t know, whatever you’d like to do instead–”

“No, it’s good, I’m coming,” Bucky interrupted his rambling. “We used to do that.” There was a strange look in Bucky’s eyes, like he was suddenly very far away. 

Of course – Sam had missed five Christmases with his family plus the years when he had been on the run but they had at least had their little undercover Christmas celebrations then, with Steve lighting candles to give the run-down hotel rooms, rough safehouses or abandoned sheds a festive atmosphere, and Natasha getting them booze from God knows where. Damn, he missed them. It was always worse on Christmas. And Bucky – shit, he probably had not had anyone to celebrate Christmas with for decades.

“Will this be your first Christmas since 1944?”

“Well, there were Christmases. But…” Bucky shrugged with a self-deprecating smile.

Yeah, Sam couldn’t see it either, Bucky celebrating the holidays in one of his hiding-places, one of those tiny depressing apartments – not likely. There wouldn’t even have been a single paper star lantern. It hurt Sam’s heart to imagine it, Bucky confused and alone while everyone around him gathered to celebrate together…

“It’s good to have you here, man,” Sam said.

Bucky stared at him, the hint of a smile on his lips and his eyes shining a little wet. He did not even try to hide his emotions but looked at Sam like he had all the answers in the world, and that was frightening because Sam certainly did not have all the answers, even if he tried to understand everything and fix everything. Right now, he wanted to hug Bucky.

What he did instead was clap him on the shoulder. Then he busied himself with the string lights. “Another thing we do on Christmas Eve is visit the graves of my parents and Michael, Sarah’s late husband. The boys’ father.”

Bucky nodded.

“We bring flowers and put up a tealight candle on every grave.”

“Okay.”

Please don’t make me ask. The string lights were tangled up, as always, but today Sam lacked the patience to detangle them. He yanked and pulled until Bucky wordlessly took them from him and meticulously released knot after knot.

“May I join you?”

Sam looked up, surprised by Bucky’s serious, almost formal tone.

“Or would that be weird? I mean, I could also prepare dinner in the meantime,” Bucky said.

“Nope, nobody wants to eat your dinner.”

Bucky grinned fleetingly. “Hold this.” He gave Sam the end of the string. Sam took it and let his hand linger on Bucky’s for a moment.

“Of course you can join us.” He exhaled slowly, letting out some of that tension, relieved that Bucky took it seriously and wanted to be there with him and his family. “I’d be happy to have you there,” Sam said sincerely before he let go of Bucky’s hand.

Bucky nodded silently, then he started to wrap the string lights around the tree while Sam made sure they didn’t get tangled up again.

“Do you think Sarah would be okay with my coming?”

“Sure. But you can ask her yourself.”

“I will.” Bucky scowled at the tree. “The string is too short.”

“It’s not too short. You used the wrong technique.”

“There’s no such thing as Christmas lights technique.”

“Yeah? Wanna see?” Sam removed the lights and put them up again – three more times until both were satisfied.

“Is all of that supposed to go on the tree?” Bucky asked with a sceptical look at four more boxes with Christmas tree decorations.

“We’ve still got an hour before church,” Sam said.

“Exactly. I don’t think it’s possible to do this in one hour.” Bucky fiddled with one of the red baubles. “If the lanyards weren’t so short, I’d be faster. Why do they make them like this? It doesn’t make sense.”

Sam snorted. It never failed to amuse him that Bucky complained so much about the small things. “Come on, we’ve dealt with worse situations.”

“Yeah? What is Captain America’s strategy here?”

“Clearly we need a bigger team. I’ll see if Sarah can spare one of the boys.”

Sarah was in the kitchen, preparing dinner with Cass and AJ’s help. AJ volunteered to help decorate the tree whereas Cass insisted he needed the time to do his hair.

“Don’t forget Ella’s angel!” Sarah called after them.

As always, it was stressful, and, as always, they finished last minute, the tree looked magnificent and the whole house smelt of the delicious dinner.

As soon as the Christmas service began and the first chords of “O come all ye faithful” were played and everybody started to sing along together with the choir, all the hectic and pressure of the day – and of the last weeks and months – fell away from Sam. Sarah, too, seemed to soak in the energy of the worship songs. Singing and clapping along with a big smile on her face, she looked younger, like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. 

Being back here always felt like travelling back in time. All the familiar faces, the old songs and stories… Here, far enough away from the politics of being Captain America and the responsibilities of leading the Avengers, he was just Sam. Just Sam Wilson with his family, on Christmas, like it was supposed to be. And Bucky – who was getting some amused smiles from the other parishioners. Sam could tell he was not used to dancing and clapping along in church. While his dancing was not half bad, he kept clapping in the wrong rhythm. Cass (who so far had seemed embarrassed to sing along because he was hitting puberty and his voice kept breaking) and AJ took it upon themselves to teach him. Bucky, of course, went along with everything. He had such a soft spot for the boys. Watching them, Sam’s heart felt full to bursting. He definitely had a soft spot for Bucky.

“Whoo, doing great!” Sam said when Bucky finally got the rhythm right.

“You should have warned me,” Bucky complained but he was laughing.

After the service, Sam chatted with some of his old childhood friends and acquaintances, catching up on what they had been getting up to for the last few years. When they introduced their spouses or partners, and Sam introduced Bucky in turn, he got some knowing smiles, and Sam’s old math teacher even winked at him. 

He could not really blame them for drawing their conclusions. You did not invite a casual friend from work to spend the holidays with your family, and with the way Bucky acted so familiar with AJ and Cass, it made sense for people to assume that he was part of the Wilson family now. 

Maybe he really was, Sam thought on the way to the cemetery. This was a Wilson family tradition, a very private moment. He had never before thought of bringing anyone else along. 

After the vibrant atmosphere in the church, the cemetery seemed eerily quiet. There were only a few other people here. They exchanged nods in greeting, a silent understanding between those who mourned someone tonight.

They stopped at their parents’ grave first. Sarah had brought a bag with tealight candles, of which they lit two and placed them on the grave. Sam knelt down to touch the gravestone.

Merry Christmas, Mom, merry Christmas, Dad, he mouthed silently, trying to swallow down the lump in his throat.

AJ and Cass each put lilies on the grave. They had never got to know their grandparents.

Sarah came to stand next to Sam and made to scrape the lichen off the gravestone. It was just the two of them left now, the only two who remembered what it had been like to celebrate Christmas with Paul and Darlene, the best parents imaginable, who had always made the holidays so very special for them.

After some time, he and Sarah exchanged a look, smiling sadly, a silent agreement to move along.

Michael’s grave wasn’t far. Sarah gave Cass the tealight to place it on the grave. It wasn’t long before Cass gave a choked sob. Sarah immediately gathered him in her arms and hugged him tightly.

“Oh, baby, I know, I know, I miss him, too. So much. But wherever he is now, he is well, I promise. And I’m sure he’s looking down on you and I know he is so, so proud of you, okay? Of you both.” She was trying so hard to be strong for Cass and comfort him but silent tears were running down her cheeks. Sam placed a hand on her shoulder and rubbed small, soothing circles. AJ stood next to them, not crying but looking a little lost. He hardly remembered his father but it must frighten him that his mother and older brother broke down like this. Sam pulled him close and put an arm around him. And there was Bucky, looking just as lost, who did not have any family left at all. Sam did not know who to comfort first.

But then there was the lightest touch on the small of his back where Bucky had placed his hand. Sam threw him a sidelong glance. Bucky gave him a crooked little smile and Sam nodded back in acknowledgement, grateful for Bucky’s presence at his side and the silent comfort.

They stayed like this, huddled together for comfort, staring at the candle’s dancing flame, which illuminated the name on the gravestone.

The walk back was sombre but there was also a closeness and warmth from being together like this: Sarah and Sam had linked arms, Cass was pressed close to Sarah’s side, Bucky carried AJ on his back, and his hand stayed on Sam’s back the whole time.

“Okay, everyone,” Sarah said when they arrived back home, “tonight everyone can cry as much as they want. I mean, I’ve spent hours preparing dinner but it’s totally fine if you want to cry into your food, but tomorrow we’ll have a happy Christmas Day with lots of presents, no tears allowed. Got it?”

It broke the spell. Sam chuckled and the boys confirmed, “Got it.”

The food was warm and tasty and soothing, and Sam could finally swallow down the lump in his throat. It was the same Christmas dinner their mother used to cook, and naturally it evoked more memories but they were not as devastating anymore, just bittersweet memories of when they had all been together: their parents worrying if there was enough food for everyone (it always was more than enough) and Sarah just in her early twenties – still almost a teenager – who did not have to carry any responsibilities yet and whose only worry was if Riley ate up all the shrimps.

Riley. He’d spent three Christmases with the Wilsons. Sam’s parents had welcomed him with open arms even though they had never spoken about the exact nature of Sam and Riley’s relationship. If they noticed Sam and Riley sometimes holding hands under the table, they didn't mention it. Sarah was the only one who knew. At first she had been defensive but Riley quickly won her over when he’d given her tickets to a concert of her favourite band as a Christmas gift. From then on, their feud turned into (mostly) friendly bickering, and once Sarah had her own boyfriend, things were even smoother.

“Can we play videogames?” Cass’s voice brought Sam back to the present.

“How about some board games?” Sarah suggested. When the boys gave her sceptical looks, she relented. “Okay, fine. But just because it’s Christmas. We won’t make this a regular thing, videogames at night.”

Meanwhile, Sam and Bucky went into the kitchen, and while Bucky was cleaning the dishes, Sam prepared mulled wine for the adults and hot chocolate for the boys. It was comfortable and quiet (apart from the occasional explosions from the TV and the boys’ shouts and laughter) like this, with the scents of red wine, cinnamon, cloves and chocolate wafting in the air. Christmas at home really was relaxing, Sam thought, while he stirred the drinks on the hot stove.

When Bucky stepped closer to hand him some mugs, he threw a pointed glance at the ceiling. Sam followed his gaze. No one had removed the tiny sprig of mistletoe yet. Sam quickly averted his eyes and busied himself with the mulled wine. He could not do it, not tonight, not on Christmas Eve. It just seemed wrong. He could not put a tealight candle or lilies on Riley’s grave tonight because the grave was in Iowa. The least he could do was honour Riley’s memory. This was not the time for mistletoe kisses.

Sam added a generous shot of rum to the mulled wine and poured Bucky a mug. “Here, try this. You think it’s enough alcohol?”

“There is no such thing as enough alcohol for me.”

“Okay.” Sam took the mug from Bucky to taste it himself. “Yes, definitely enough alcohol.”

AJ and Cass were allowed to stay up as late as they wanted tonight so they would be too tired to become sad again thinking of everyone they had lost. When Sam, Sarah and Bucky were squeezed together on the couch way past midnight, drinking the mulled wine, he thought they were probably doing the same thing: distracting themselves and staying up until their minds were too fuzzy to think. Bucky’s shoulder was very comfy and Sarah’s body was a pleasantly warm weight against Sam’s left side. Their voices seemed far away (Bucky giving a talk on the merits of vibranium and Sarah discussing the aesthetics of blue Christmas baubles), a comforting murmur that lulled Sam to sleep.

Chapter Text

The next morning started with a headache and too much noise because, naturally, the boys got up early and made sure to wake everyone up as well. Sam staggered out of his room. At the same time, Sarah came from her room, wrapped in her dressing gown, yawning widely. They couldn’t make the boys wait.

“You alright?” Sam asked.

“Yeah. I mean, I could’ve used some more sleep. And I’d gladly do without the headache. But, hey,” she shrugged and smiled, “merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Sarah.”

They went downstairs together where AJ and Cass were already inspecting the presents under the tree. Bucky scrambled into a sitting position on the couch, bleary-eyed and with a bad case of bed-head and a soft smile on his lips. Sam felt mildly dizzy. Definitely too much alcohol last night.

“Anyone else need some coffee?” Bucky asked.

“Nooo, presents first!” AJ protested.

“How about that: presents for the children, coffee for the adults?” Sam suggested, and turned on the Christmas lights on the tree. He had a faint recollection of rearranging the baubles in the middle of the night because something was supposedly wrong with the colour scheme but he could not for the life of him remember what, only that Sarah had tried to eat the candy canes from the tree until Bucky had supported the both of them upstairs into their respective bedrooms.

It was nice, all of them sitting in their pyjamas on the floor, drinking strong coffee and watching the boys’ excited faces when they ripped off the wrapping paper from their presents. And there were many. Sarah had of course gotten her boys several presents each, Sam still felt like he needed to make up for too many missed Christmases and Bucky had gone completely overboard with his two big bags full of presents.

Of course Christmas wasn’t just about the presents but Sam could see in Sarah and Bucky’s faces that they were just as pleased as him to see the boys so happy. They deserved it, all the presents and the happiness. Sam grabbed his phone to make the memories last: Cass almost crashing into the tree on his new longboard, AJ disappearing inside a too big and particularly ugly Captain America themed Christmas sweater, Sarah posing in front of the tree with her Christmas bauble earrings, Bucky scowling at the tiny cactus Sam had given him, and a selfie with all of them in front of the tacky inflatable light up snowman that Bucky had brought for Sarah (among other things – again, completely overboard).

Sam was not sure if he should be jealous that Bucky had brought only one present for him, a small box that contained –

“Is this a car key? Is there a racing car outside waiting for a ride?”

“Why don’t you go and have a look?”

Sam’s heart was thumping loudly in his chest. He had seen too many car commercials where a teenage girl or boy, or a grown-ass adult woman, was gifted a car on Christmas by their partner. Was that what was going on here? No, they did not have that kind of relationship, not yet anyway. Maybe not ever. It had to be a rented car, something special like a racing or vintage car that would be Sam’s for a few days before it was to be returned.

Sam went outside, followed by everyone else.

It was neither a racing car nor a vintage car but a brand new black Impala – the same model  Bucky had destroyed ten years ago.

“You’ve got some nerve,” Sam said, “reminding me of that on Christmas. I have half a mind to take the cactus back in recompense for the steering wheel.”

“Why would you do that? I literally just gave you a whole car to make up for the steering wheel.”

“Yeah? Well, you also literally destroyed my whole car – wait.” Heart still racing, Sam turned his attention away from the car to look at Bucky. So this was really happening. “Did you just say you’ve given me this car?”

Bucky shrugged in the most unconvincing noncommittal way. “It’s just so you finally shut up about that incident.”

“Why did you destroy Uncle Sam’s car?” AJ asked.

“That’s not the point,” Sam said. “You can’t just give me a car.”

“I think I just did, Sam.”

“It’s not exactly a racing car,” Cass said, eyeing the Impala with mild disappointment.

“That’s – that’s not the point either,” Sam said, “not at all! I thought this was just a rented car for, I don’t know, a little road trip!”

“We can go on a road trip.”

“No! I mean, yes, we totally can go on a road trip. But in my car. Because I already have a car, if you hadn’t noticed.” And even if he didn’t have one, Bucky giving him a car was too much. Jesus, a whole new car! A good car! The huge amount of money Bucky had spent for him – what did it mean? What did Bucky think about him and their relationship? That surely meant he wanted more, right?

“Your car has dents,” Bucky said.

It was too much for Sam to deal with right now. How was he supposed to figure out if he wanted more when he was getting overwhelmed like this? Bucky throwing a fucking expensive Christmas present in his face (in front of Sarah and the boys no less) was not the way to go.

“So? It’s perfectly functional,” Sam said. “I have a car, I don’t need a new one.”

“Then why do you keep bringing it up?”

Because it was fucking frightening, that’s what it was, driving on a highway when out of nowhere someone ripped your steering wheel out of your hands and took all your control from you. “Certainly not because I was dropping hints that I wanted a new car for Christmas. You need to return this. Seriously. This is so far from normal, I mean – three days ago I didn’t even know we were doing Christmas presents. I gave you a cactus.”

“And a chair.”

“A second hand chair that cost five dollars! And it was just to make fun of you because of your terrible apartment.”

“If you think it’s so terrible, we could always find another place. Move in together, you know.”

“Then maybe you should’ve gotten me a key for a house instead of a car key!”

Sam could faintly hear Sarah mutter something under her breath and usher the boys inside. Fair enough. This argument had nothing to do with them.

Bucky stared at him. “I’ll put it on the list for next year.”

“How do you even have so much money?”

Bucky just shrugged. “I have my ways.”

“Oh my God, you stole it, didn’t you?” Great, and now Sam was in legal trouble on top of everything else: Captain America, owner of a stolen car, just great.

“It was a completely legal purchase: I didn’t bring any weapons when I bought the car, didn’t threaten or beat up the seller…”

The way he phrased it had Sam suspicious immediately. “You stole the money, didn’t you?”

Bucky hesitated. “I wouldn’t call it stealing.”

“There is a very clear definition of what stealing is. You either steal or you don’t, there’s no in-between.”

“What if it’s from bad people?”

“Still stealing. Wait, are you saying I now have the New Orleans Mafia on my heels?”

“Hydra.”

“That’s…worse!”

“They don’t know it was me. And they don’t know your car was paid with money from old off-book accounts.”

In an odd (and probably problematic) way Sam liked that idea. It felt fitting that Bucky took illegal earnings from Hydra and had decided to buy Sam a car with that money. Not to mention, it was also somewhat exciting.

“So, okay, stealing from Hydra is the good kind of stealing, we can agree on that. But you still can’t just give me a car, man.”

“You also made me a playlist.”

“That was just for my own peace of mind so I don’t have to listen to your horrible music.” Sam hadn’t given up yet on educating Bucky on proper music.

“Yeah? Well, the car was just for my peace of mind so you finally shut up about that steering wheel.”

Bucky stared hard at him. Sam stared back.

Bucky won.

Sam furiously blinked his straining eyes. “You need to return that car. As soon as the holidays are over-”

“No.”

“You totally do.”

“Nope.”

“Yes.”

“What will it take for you to shut up about it?”

“Too bad there is no mistletoe here, right?”

Bucky blinked, momentarily lost for words.

Sam took that as a win. “You will return that car.”

“Where is Redwing when you need him? Hey, Redwing!” Bucky shouted. “Bring some mistletoe!”

“He doesn’t listen to you. Oh, and you just called him ‘he’, by the way.” Sam grinned at Bucky. This time, he had won.

Chapter Text

“It’s nice, you know, that you brought him over for the holidays,” Sarah said the next morning. She and Sam were sitting in the kitchen, drinking coffee and enjoying a moment of quiet.

Bucky had gone outside with the boys in order to help them collect wood and build a campfire where they wanted to roast marshmallows this afternoon. What was happening instead was the boys chasing Bucky around with a stick. Their battle cries could be heard, slightly subdued through the windows.

“He really doesn’t have anyone,” Sam said. “With Steve gone...must be tough. He told me he was going to be alone for Christmas, and that’s just sad.”

“Oh, yes. I mean, I’m happy for him, too, that he’s not alone. He’s a good guy and surely went through a lot. But I meant you.” Sarah leant over the table and gave his arm a playful punch. “I’m happy for you, dearest brother.”

“What, because I have this ridiculous old man clinging to me who apparently comes with the shield?”

“Come on, you like him.”

Sam shrugged. Of course he liked Bucky. Liked him enough to joke about moving in together (and sometimes wondering if the jokes would become real). He poured himself another cup of coffee. “Fine, sometimes,” he admitted, grinning at the scene outside where Bucky collapsed dramatically under the boys’ attack.

“Seriously, I’m glad you’ve finally – well, opened up to someone again.”

Sam swivelled his attention back to her. He did not like the sound of that. “What is that supposed to mean? And are you analysing me?”

“Oh, now you see how annoying it is?”

She had a point. Sam was not proud of having sometimes overstepped some boundaries.

“But it doesn’t need much analysing,” Sarah continued, “when it’s the first time you’ve brought someone over for Christmas. The first one since Riley.”

This was not what Sam wanted to talk about. It was one thing if strangers on the Internet said certain things. But not his own sister. “You seriously need to stop reading things about me on the Internet,” he said harshly.

“I don’t need to read things on the Internet when you are here, and I have eyes, and I know you, and I know what it means that after Riley-”

“Leave Riley out of this!” Sam snapped. “This has nothing whatsoever to do with him.”

“There’s no need to shout,” Sarah shot back.

“Then how about you stop meddling in things you don’t understand!”

“I don’t understand? You know what, this is ridiculous.” She turned away and nearly smashed her coffee mug when she put it in the sink. “Seriously, this isn’t normal, Sam. You always pretend to be the sensible one but this behaviour isn’t healthy. I know what it’s like to grieve someone but at some point you gotta move on.”

“Oh, like you did? How many dates have you had since Michael? I don’t see you bringing anyone home for Christmas.”

“How would you know? You weren’t there.”

Sam would not accept her bitter accusations. “You’re blaming me for being turned to fucking dust? Are you for real?”

“I have half a mind to throw you out of my house –” 

“Your house?”

“Yes, my house. You haven’t been here for more than five years, so don’t you dare presume anything about my life!”

Fine, if she wanted to throw him out of his own childhood home, he would leave before she could do it. He did not have to listen to any more of her hypocritical bullshit! He stormed outside, ignored his nephews, who were still chasing Bucky around the garden, and with long strides set out for the docks. He did not know where else to go. The Paul & Darlene was his last refuge, the part of his childhood he certainly still had rights to after he had organised her renovation this spring.

Yes, there were also the neighbours, who would gladly welcome him inside their homes, and then they would ask about Bucky and all the shit everyone seemed to presume about them because that was how the Delacroix rumour mill worked. Why couldn’t people just leave him alone?

Everything had been going fine with Bucky, they were fine with the way things were and that was what counted, right? Why did everyone insist on meddling? From Sarah to random strangers to Joaquín apparently telling his nephews that Sam needed to kiss Bucky. Seriously, what the fuck was that about, involving the kids in this mess? Yes, sure, he had enjoyed kissing Bucky, but it should not happen because other people orchestrated situations. And it did not mean they were in a relationship, not the kind of relationship Sam had had with Riley. It was not for Sarah or anyone else to decide.

In the morning fog, at the abandoned docks, the Paul & Darlene looked nothing like she had in the summer. Some of the paint had already peeled off again. When Sam set foot on the deck, this impression was confirmed. There were little puddles of stale, muddy water. With his feet on unsteady ground, something ugly and resentful was rising in his chest. How could Sarah have let the boat go to waste like this after they had spent so much effort repairing it not even a year ago?

He tried to quell the feeling. He knew he was being unfair. Sarah had enough on her plate with raising two kids and, often enough, caring for other kids in the neighbourhood as well, managing the family seafood business, managing the household… and maybe trying dating in-between? No, he could not really see it how she would squeeze some dating in.

Trying to make sense of the mix of anger and guilt, he grabbed buckets and a wiping cloth and set to work.

With gritted teeth, he set to scrubbing every damn part of the boat, channelling all his pent-up emotions into the physical work. The fog did not lift, weighing down on him like his bad conscience. There was no wind at all, not a breath of air, and the water lay completely still under the fog. Now he remembered all too well why, as a teenager, he had sometimes wanted to just get away from here where everything was stagnant and he felt constricted. And yet, he could not let go of his past.

Whenever a memory surfaced, he scrubbed harder. Him and Riley sneaking up here for a rare moment of privacy. Bucky arriving with a smart remark and showing off his supersoldier strength in a way that was both annoying and endearing. Riley, that dumbass, trying to jump over the railing and Sam yelling at him to stop because you did not just jump into unknown waters and yes, Sam knew these  waters and you did not just jump in there! Bucky devising some ridiculous excuses to entice Sam to ask him to stay the night. His father teaching Riley how to steer the boat, his father’s pride when Riley managed it, Riley’s pride because Sam’s father taught him, and Sam’s gratefulness to his father for welcoming Riley into the family without asking any questions. Bucky coming here in the early morning hours, silently assisting Sam with the repair work on the boat –

“Need any help?”

Sam blinked, caught between the past and the present.

There was Bucky in his leather jacket and with his backpack, looking like he had prepared to go on a little sailing trip with Sam. It was a tempting fantasy: just the two of them, getting away from everything. It was just that Sam had no idea how to get away from his own thoughts.

“All the surfaces need to be polished and waxed. You can start on the stern. I’ll continue here.”

Bucky hummed his assent, picked up some tools and went to the stern. Sam watched him for a while, relieved that Bucky accepted that Sam needed time to… work things through. The fog over the water still had not lifted, and Sam’s head felt a bit like that, too: like he could not (or did not want to) break through what was hanging heavily above and around him.

They spent hours like this, working on separate parts of the boat, only exchanging a few curt words when necessary. But Sam was grateful for the silent companionship. It was enough. At last, he found the calm he needed to reflect on his reaction, or rather: overreaction. ‘Trauma response’, his counselor’s brain provided. It was not hard to figure out what had caused his sudden burst of anger. Sam knew that you needed to process grief, but knowing something did not mean you automatically did it right. He had never properly mourned Riley. Secret military program, secret relationship – how did you mourn someone when all the time you had to hold yourself back making sure you did not reveal too much? To everyone but Sarah Riley was just an army buddy of Sam’s, who had died during some mission in Afghanistan. 

Sarah bringing up Riley now had hit so hard precisely because she was the one who knew Sam better than anyone else. He could ignore or laugh about what villains, cops or strangers on the Internet thought about him and Bucky. But when Sarah said it, it meant things were getting serious. Sam shied away from getting too serious with Bucky, but that was his problem, his fear of commitment, not Sarah’s fault. She did not deserve what he had thrown at her. Her life was hard enough as it was, and she had only meant well and had wanted the best for him. 

Was Bucky “the best” for him? Was it really an option? And if so – was it a good option? All of it were maybe’s but the most important but also the most foggy question was if it was something Sam wanted. He had never before felt the need to contemplate it, had just been content with the way things were.

“So I’m guessing you don’t want to come back to roast marshmallows.” Bucky came around to the deck where Sam was working.

Sam kept staring at the part of the railing that he was polishing. “No, not really feeling it right now.” Cass and AJ would be disappointed by his absence. After the Blip, Sam had vowed to make up for the lost years and spend more time with his family, but like this, his presence would only bring the mood down.

He stopped his vigorous polishing and looked up at Bucky. “You can go.”

“I brought food, by the way.” Bucky pulled two plastic containers with leftover food from last night’s dinner and a thermos with coffee from his backpack. “Thought you’d be hungry.”

“Starving,” Sam admitted. He opened one of the plastic containers. The food was cold but he could eat anything right now. “Did you bring cutlery?”

“Ah shoot, I knew my plan wasn’t perfectly executed.”

“As far as plans go, it’s still better than mine, coming out here without any food or warm clothes.” Now that he wasn’t working anymore, and with the sweaty shirt clinging to his back, it was unpleasant in the humid and cold air.

Bucky shrugged off his leather jacket and threw it to Sam, who caught it in one hand.

“You sure? I’m disgustingly sweaty.”

“Eh, you don’t normally stink, even when you’re sweating.”

“Wow.” There was so much to unpack here. Namely, did Bucky sniff him? Did he like Sam’s body odour? And why would he say something like that to Sam’s face? “But thanks for the jacket.” Sam finally put it on.

Bucky shrugged. “It wasn’t meant to be an insult.” He poured Sam a cup of coffee from the thermos.

“Sure. Typical way to compliment a guy.” Sam took the cup gratefully. Coffee had never tasted better.

It was surprisingly nice: being back together on the boat, eating a messy lunch using their fingers to scoop the food from the plastic containers. Sam knew how much Bucky adored AJ and Cass and how much he liked candy, yet he had decided to spend his day here with Sam instead.

Sam, very aware of the fact that he was wearing Bucky’s jacket, gave him a tentative smile, which Bucky returned. Instead of weighing him down, the thick fog now seemed to shelter them from the rest of the world, a soft but impenetrable barrier. He allowed himself to think about it: of leaning over with the excuse of wanting to wipe the spot of gravy from Bucky’s chin and then keeping his hand where it was, gently directing Bucky forward, that intense gaze falling to Sam’s lips…

Was that something Bucky wanted? Was he waiting for Sam to make the first move? 

Sam was starting to sweat again under the leather jacket.

“Let’s get back to work,” Bucky said.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, relieved and disappointed at the same time.

Determined to get most of the polishing done today, he threw himself back into work.

When dusk started to fall, Sam asked, “How’s Sarah? Did you talk to her?”

“She’s not happy with you.”

That was as good as a yes to his second question. So they had talked. What exactly had Sarah told Bucky? And what did Bucky think about it?

“She has every right to be angry with me,” Sam said haltingly. “But she should have stopped prying when I told her to let it go. Thing is, I don’t like feeling pressured. So I snapped.”

“You should probably apologise to her.”

“Seriously?” First Sarah gave him unsolicited advice on his relationship with Bucky and now Bucky did the same regarding his relationship with Sarah? Unbelievable. “Thank you very much, I worked that out myself, I’m a functioning adult.”

“I just meant to say, she wasn’t that angry. I think she’d appreciate it.”

“Here’s an idea: I apologise to Sarah, you return the car.”

“I’m starting to think that you like reminding me of destroying your old car.”

Sam did not rise to Bucky’s joking tone. “I mean it, I don’t want that car,” he said calmly. “I just told you: I don’t like feeling pressured. And you gotta understand that getting a car for Christmas very much feels like pressure.”

“It wasn’t meant as pressure.”

“Good.” Sam believed him, of course he did. Bucky had just been a bit thoughtless and over the top – nothing new there. “But it still feels like it,” he explained. “So, please, just return it, okay?”

Bucky watched him closely and at last seemed to understand that Sam was being serious. He nodded. “Okay.”

Chapter Text

There was really no way to go back inside with his dignity intact, after spending the best part of the day away doing what Sarah could only assume was sulking. So he stayed outside, deciding to get some work done in the garden even though it had already gotten dark and his arms were tired from all the polishing on the boat. He waited for the boys to get to bed so he and Sarah could have a private talk. Just going inside after their fight, assuming Sarah would be fine with it and would endure his presence for the boys’ sake, seemed in bad taste. But as it was Christmas break, Cass and AJ unfortunately were allowed to stay awake longer than usual.

At last, the door to the veranda opened.

“Is this how you plan to spend the night?” Sarah called.

Yeah, fine, it did not look good, with Sam upside down in the hawthorn where he was trying to retrieve his phone, which he had used as a flashlight tucked under his chin so he had his hands free to wrestle with the overgrown bushes.

“Just lost my phone – there it is, ouch.” A thorn had scratched his cheek.

Sarah did not comment on it. What was there to say? She had made the first step. Now it was up to him. He deactivated the flashlight and stepped towards the veranda. The welcoming, warm light from inside cast a golden streak over the veranda and grass. It was his childhood home, yet he wasn’t sure if he was invited to come inside. It was also Sarah’s childhood home and Sam was the last family member she had – another adult, that is, someone who should support her – and he had been an asshole, giving her a hard time, blaming her, due to his own messy love life, his fears and regrets.

“I’m sorry.” He wiped his burning and sweaty hands on his pants. “The things I said to you – I was out of line. I can only imagine how hard it must’ve been for you, first the Snap and then losing Michael…”

Sarah leant against one of the veranda’s beams and looked down at him. “I’m sorry, too. I know I don’t get any say in your love life.” She sighed heavily. “It’s just – it’s making me crazy, seeing you self-sabotage like that. If I had someone – someone I was happy with and it could work so easily because he was in the same situation I’m in and understood my kind of life, you know, being a single father and a widower – if I had someone like that and he was a good guy and totally in love with me, I wouldn’t risk waiting for a single moment longer. It can be…” Her voice choked up a little. “It can be over so quickly, Sam,” she continued more softly. “One moment you think you’re fine and you got all the time in the world, and in the next… You know what it’s like, in your line of work even more so than in our ‘normal’ lives, but it can happen to all of us, the snap of a finger or a car accident or…” Her voice broke. Or the diagnosis of a terminal illness.

Sam inelegantly jumped up on the veranda so he could hug Sarah. She made a noise between a snort and a sob, and returned the embrace. She shook in his arms with suppressed emotions, never allowing herself to fully cry, and he could not help but wonder if there had been anyone who had held her after Michael’s death, or if everyone had been too preoccupied dealing with the aftermath of Thanos’ snap and their own losses.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you.”

“It’s okay,” she said in a muffled voice against his shoulder. “I don’t blame you for saving the world or turning to dust or whatever other crazy stuff you do. You know that, right?”

Sam hummed an affirmative.

“I just want you to be happy,” Sarah said.

Sam sighed, overcome with emotion for his little sister (who insisted she was his older sister now because of the Blip but, no matter what she said, she would stay his little sister forever). He pulled her still a little closer. “I want that for you, too.”

“If you ever find that perfect man for me-”

“The single father widower with a seafood business?”

She gave a watery chuckle. “That’s the one. You point him my way. And if I don’t take my chance, you’re free to call me an idiot.”

“Wouldn’t let it pass.”

“Now, you go take a shower. You stink.”

“Ouch, rude.” He let her go and eyed her thoroughly. “You okay?”

“Always.”

Of course. He had not meant to doubt her ability to get by on her own. He knew she had done so for long, much too long.

“You know I got your back, right?”

“I know. Go on now.” She ushered him inside. “I’ll make us tea and then we can talk some more.”

Under the hot shower, he had a good cry. Weirdly enough, it was an old childhood memory that broke the dam: he and Sarah fighting over a gingerbread house they were building together, because Sam did not want to share his smarties with her that he was using to decorate his side of the roof, ending with them destroying the whole gingerbread house in their fight. There had been tears that Christmas but of course their parents had made it better again. Then it all came crashing down: his parents, Riley, Michael, Steve, Natasha and Tony, Karli, that talk with Isaiah, reading the files on the Winter Soldier, Cass crying at Michael’s grave, AJ hardly remembering his father…

When he exited the shower, he felt thoroughly drained but also, somehow, lighter. He’d needed that, get it all out for once.

With a mug of tea in his hands, sitting in the warm kitchen, Sam’s whole body seemed to glow with heat. His limbs felt heavy, his emotions still a little frayed, but mostly he was relieved and grateful that they were here together, that they still had each other after all their losses.

“Has there been anyone else, after Michael?” Sam asked. “If you wanna talk about it.”

“There were two guys. One lasted two months, the other not even a night.”

“Not even a night? Sounds like an asshole.”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “It was a one-night stand, Sam.”

“He could at least have bothered to make you breakfast. So I think I’m definitely right in my assessment that he’s an asshole.”

“I only had a babysitter till midnight.”

Ah. Yes. That made perfect sense. “He could’ve invited you for breakfast the next day, just saying.”

“He wasn’t looking for romance. Neither was I. Most of the time I don’t have time for dating. Or I’m just too tired. Don’t look at me like that, I’m not unhappy. I have the world’s most beautiful kids, I have this wonderful community, I have a brother who thinks he’s the only one in the world with a complicated love life…”

“I resent that. My love life is completely straightforward.”

“Mm, yeah.”

“In the sense that it’s been non-existent for years.”

“You mean decades.”

“The years of the Blip don’t count.”

“You know he loves you, right?”

Sam opened his mouth and closed it again. He had been ready to parry her next quip and had not expected this sudden turn in their conversation.

“Did he tell you that?”

“He did in fact,” Sarah said, not fully able to suppress her triumphant tone, as if she had been waiting for his question.

Sam’s stomach plummeted. His mouth was suddenly dry. Things were getting too real too soon. “Did he really say it or was it just your interpretation? Did he use the exact words ‘I’m in love with Sam’?”

“I asked him if he loved you, he nodded. Is that clear enough for you? And don’t start with ‘love in a romantic or in a platonic way?’ I know what kind of conversation I was having. I’m not stupid.”

It was not clear enough for Sam. He needed to know how Bucky had nodded. The scene kept playing in his head in several versions:

“Do you love him?”

Bucky nodded, grinning, a spark in his eye, remembering how he had surprised Sam with that mistletoe kiss.

“Do you love him?”

Bucky nodded sheepishly, a slight blush colouring his cheeks at admitting his feelings for the first time.

“Do you love him?”

Bucky nodded with a grimace, annoyed by having feelings for his co-worker. Mildly annoyed. Maybe just pretending to be annoyed.

Sam liked the last version best.

“Speaking of, where is Bucky now? The last time I saw him he tried to sneak lunch out to you on the boat. Did he ever arrive?”

Sarah’s question stopped his fantasies and brought him back to the present. “I asked him to return the car. Didn’t mean right away, in the middle of the night. But you know how Bucky can never be normal about anything.”

Sarah opened and closed her mouth. A little frown appeared between her brows. “Okay.”

“What? I can see the question all over your face. Come on, spit it out.”

“I honestly don’t know how to make sense of it: you, him and whatever’s going on between you. You sent him away but you were wearing his jacket earlier. You got to admit that raises some questions.”

“I told you I didn’t send him away.”

“Okay.”

“And now you’re being judgemental.”

“I’m just saying, if I gave my boyfriend a fucking expensive present the first time we spent Christmas together and he asked me to return it, I’d be… feeling some kind of way, that’s for sure.”

Damn. Sam may be a bit of an idiot but he was not a complete idiot. It wasn’t hard to imagine how Bucky must have felt when Sam refused to accept his present. A new version of that scene popped up in his head:

“Do you love him?”

Bucky nodded in defeat, thinking his love was unrequited, but unable to do anything about his feelings.

It was Sam’s least favourite version.

So he refrained from pointing out that Bucky was not his boyfriend and said instead, “I think I should call him.”

“You do that.”

He stepped back out on the veranda for privacy. Enough people had assumed things about him and Bucky. This was just between them and no one else’s business.

Thankfully, Bucky was not back to ignoring his calls and picked up the phone after the fourth ring.

“Yes?”

“Hey. It’s me, Sam. Where are you?”

“Coldwater.”

Bucky did not offer more information, so Sam did a quick google search that told him that Coldwater was 400 miles away. Damn. Bucky must have left some hours ago, probably right after they had returned from the docks. Did he really think Sam wanted him to leave? Back on the boat it had seemed like they had come to an understanding, with Sam explaining why he was reluctant to accept such an extravagant gift and Bucky accepting his decision. But now it seemed they did not understand each other at all. That was new. So far, they had been able to easily switch between bickering and candid conversations. How had it all gone wrong so fast?

“What are you doing in Coldwater? Sightseeing?” Sam tried for a lighter tone in an attempt to bring their easy camaraderie back and make Bucky talk.

“Hoping to find a bus station. From where there is also a bus.”

“Pretty sure the public transit hasn’t improved since the 40s. Buses from the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night? Not a chance.”

“I returned the car, by the way. Didn’t really think it through.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“I can probably make it to Memphis by foot. It’s not that far.”

“I don’t doubt it but – why Memphis?”

“It’s the nearest airport.”

“Right. And what do you want to do at the airport?”

“What people usually do at the airport, Sam. Catch a flight.”

“To?”

“Back to New York.”

Sam swallowed. He could picture it all too clearly: Bucky packing lunch to bring to Sam on the boat, Sam telling him to return the car, Bucky grabbing his backpack and leaving without even a goodbye, Bucky stranded in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night, thinking that Sam did not want to continue spending the holidays together and that he had to go back to New York where he would be alone in his apartment… 

“Don’t be stupid,” Sam said gruffly, fully aware that Bucky was not the only stupid one here.

“Why?”

“Why you shouldn’t be stupid?” Sam made a weak attempt at a chuckle, trying to broadcast that it wasn’t meant in a cruel way but it was just him gently dragging Bucky – that was their thing after all. “Because that’s normally what you strive for, you know?”

“So what should I do? In your opinion?” Bucky asked tersely.

Bucky was going to make him ask, and Sam hated having to ask. Usually he was not the one asking for help, for people to do something for him, but he was the one providing help and support. But Bucky always made him ask. Sam sighed silently.

“Just come back to Delacroix, please,” he said, hating how unsure and dependent that made him sound. “We haven’t… I thought… I thought you wanted to spend New Year’s here.”

Bucky was silent for a while before he said, “There really aren’t any buses from here.”

“I’m gonna come and pick you up. Thank God I have a car.”

“Are you sure?”

“Just text me your location.”

Sam grabbed a packet of cookies and two bottles of water for the drive and put on Bucky’s leather jacket. “I can’t believe you’re making me drive through half of America in the middle of the night.”

“I’m not making you.”

Sam did not have any counter argument. As a last thought, he plucked the tiny sprig of mistletoe from the kitchen ceiling to take with him. Just in case… if, for example, he needed to win an argument.

Chapter Text

It was way past midnight when Sam arrived at the location Bucky had texted him. It was a bus stop in front of a public school, in the middle of nowhere: no lamps or neon signs illuminated the place, not a soul to be seen. Bucky was sitting on the bench under the bus stop shelter with his backpack in his lap.

“Did you spend the whole night here?” Sam asked, trying to ignore the painful tug in his stomach.

“If I’d gone away, you wouldn’t have found me.” Bucky made no move to get up from his place on the bench. “Took you a while.”

“How was I supposed to know that you overreact and leave without saying goodbye? On second thought, I should’ve known. Overreacting is what you do.” It was meant to come out playful, their usual back and forth, but Bucky did not rise to it.

“You asked me to return the car, I did it. What more do you want?”

A part of Sam understood that Bucky was grumpy from spending hours at this godforsaken bus stop after Sam had rejected his Christmas gift. But Sam was fucking exhausted himself after spending the whole day working first on the boat and then in the garden and then driving six hours through the night to pick Bucky up.

“Just get in the car,” he said tiredly.

Bucky finally stood up, slung his backpack over his shoulder and, without another word, got in the passenger seat.

For the next ten minutes, neither of them uttered a word. It was the most awkward car ride they had ever had, and that was counting the time they had been squeezed in together in that tiny VW Beetle. Sam turned the music louder so Bucky would not hear his every gulp or sharp breath.

“What happened to your face?” Bucky spoke up at last, taking Sam completely by surprise.

“What do you mean? What’s wrong with my face?”

“There’s a big scratch.”

“Ah, that. Well, I was working in the garden.”

“Cutting mistletoe?”

“Hawthorn.”

“What about the mistletoe then? Since when do you have mistletoe in your car? Why do you have mistletoe in your car?”

Maybe they were back on familiar terrain, giving each other a bit of a hard time but never too mean, never too serious. It gave Sam the courage to say, “In case you say something stupid, so I can shut you up.”

With one simple move, Bucky removed the mistletoe from the rear-view mirror, lowered the side window and threw it out.

“Hey, what are you doing? That’s my emergency mistletoe. Does that mean you plan to never say anything stupid again? Because, I gotta say-”

“If you want to kiss me, then do it. If you don’t want to kiss me, then don’t. But don’t use mistletoe as an excuse.”

That effectively shut Sam up. Clinging to the steering wheel, he suddenly found himself shaking, his heart racing. His eyes were on the road but he could feel Bucky’s stare burning into the side of his head. He was sweating under the jacket – Bucky’s leather jacket.

He could not do this right now.

He took the next exit and stopped in an empty parking lot.

“What now?” Bucky asked. “Are you going to throw me out?”

“You drive.” Sam roughly shoved the car keys in Bucky’s hand and got out of the car. Impatiently, he waited at the passenger side for Bucky to get out as well, which he eventually did when Sam made no move to retract.

“You want me to drive your car,” Bucky said slowly. “Are you sure? This feels like a trap.”

“I haven’t slept in more than twenty hours, I’m not a supersoldier, I’m fucking tired, that’s all. No traps.”

Bucky hummed an acknowledgement and at last moved in the driver’s seat.

“I don’t have a driver’s licence,” he said.

“Whatever.” Sam turned his face to the side window and leant his forehead against the cool glass.

Bucky started the car and got them back on the highway. Staring into the darkness, his eyes burning from exhaustion, Sam was unable to relax. He could not deal with their closeness right now: at least five more hours in the car, with Bucky expecting some kind of response from him. It was unfair, why did Bucky have to ask that of him? So far, at least Bucky had not demanded anything of him, had seemed fine with leaving things unsaid and let their relationship be whatever it was. But there was no going back from what Bucky had started with that declaration. Things would forever be different now. Fucking Last Christmas was playing and Sam had the strong urge to destroy the radio for threatening him with a simple Christmas song. What if Bucky decided that he was sick of Sam’s indecisiveness and all the mixed signals and would rather give his heart to someone else? Sam couldn’t blame him but, damn, this was exactly why he was afraid of committing to a relationship, because people he loved always left.

“Are you okay?” Bucky asked in a low voice.

Sam could not bring himself to say yes. He kept staring into the darkness, wanting nothing more than his wings to break out of this claustrophobic situation and fly into the night sky.

“Sam. What’s going on?”

“I told you I don’t like being pressured,” he said in a tight voice.

“And I told you it’s fine if you don’t want to kiss me,” Bucky said quietly. “I don’t mean to pressure you. All I’m asking is for you to be honest with me. Just… Just tell me what you want from me. Tell me and I’ll do it.”

It hit Sam then, that Bucky had already done so. Sam had told him to return the car and he had done it. Sam had told him to come back to Delacroix, get into the car, drive. And Bucky had done all of it. And now Bucky was asking for something.

“What do you want?” Bucky asked again, and Sam still did not have an answer.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly, giving up on masking how broken his voice sounded.

Bucky was silent for a moment. Last Christmas finally ended.

Then Bucky simply said, “Okay.”

Sam sighed. “Sorry.” He knew it wasn’t what Bucky had wanted to hear.

“No need to apologise. So you need time to figure things out. Fair enough.”

Sam inhaled and exhaled slowly, and then at last tore his gaze away from the side window and turned around to look at Bucky’s profile. He did not seem completely heartbroken, which was a relief. However, he did not look happy either.

“Look, I don’t want you to think that I rejected your Christmas present.” Except that Sam had done exactly that. What he meant was: I don’t want you to think that I rejected you. “I’d definitely like to get a present from you,” he clarified. “But a car is a lot. Just a heads up for next year.” That hopefully made it clear that Sam wanted to spend another Christmas together.

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of Bucky’s lips. “No key for a house then?”

“No.” Sam found himself relaxing in return, mirroring Bucky’s smile. “Aside from the too much bit, I’d never let you go house hunting on your own.”

“Don’t you trust me?”

“With finding a nice place to live? Absolutely not.” He had enough evidence to support his claim, with all the depressing holes he had found when he had been on the hunt for Bucky.

Bucky took it in stride. “You’re letting me drive your car right now, so we’ll see.”

“Don’t mess it up.”

“Got it, Cap.”

Sam was still dead tired, but he was calmer now, felt comfortable and safe in Bucky’s presence again. Why had he let it bother him so much? He knew they were good together. Things were uncomplicated between them, and he did trust Bucky, maybe now more so than ever. It didn’t matter what other people thought. Sam would work it out in his time. And yes, maybe by being honest with Bucky. By communicating what he wanted and listening more closely to what Bucky wanted. He knew that Bucky liked to help and be of service, do good after all the horrible things he had been forced to do. So it made sense that he sometimes went overboard.

“The car wasn’t a romantic gesture, was it?” Sam asked slowly.

“How’s a car supposed to be romantic? A key for a house, yes, I could see that. But a car, seriously?”

“It’s a thing. A car’s expensive, shiny, you know.”

“A ring is expensive and shiny. And romantic. A car’s just… a means for transportation.”

If the car had not been a romantic gesture, it could only mean one thing: that Bucky had wanted to make amends. It sounded horribly wrong. Had Sam, by bringing up the steering wheel incident again and again, given him the idea that he needed to do it?

“I read your files. The files on the Winter Soldier programming, I mean. I know it wasn’t your fault – the car and all the other things. I don’t blame you for any of the things Hydra made you do.”

“I know,” Bucky said without hesitation, to Sam’s relief. If Bucky had doubted that, it would have changed everything about their relationship. “But your car was still destroyed and you never got a recompense,” Bucky continued. “Hydra used me to destroy your car, that’s why I thought it was only right that I use Hydra’s money to buy you a new one.”

“I like that thought.”

“I’m not going back to rebuy the car.”

Sam chuckled. “That’s fine. I meant it when I said I don’t need another car because I already have one. I’m good, honestly. Compared to all the other things that happened, a destroyed car is not that bad. I only bring it up because…”

“Because annoying me is your hobby?”

Bucky’s tone was light and the corner of his lips quirked up in a smirk but Sam would not risk another misunderstanding between them, that’s why he asked, “Does it bother you? When I joke about your time as the Winter Soldier?”

“No. You’re the only person who’s normal about it.”

“Normal?”

“Not treating me like I’m either a bomb or a helpless victim who can’t be reminded of what happened to him because he’ll explode or start crying.”

“Mm.”

“You make me feel normal,” Bucky said very softly. “Like I can be just me and have a normal life with… with you, and your family…” He was staring straight ahead at the road. Sam reached over and briefly squeezed Bucky’s arm, signalling that he was listening, that he understood.

Bucky cleared his throat, indicating that this moment of vulnerability was over. “To sum it up: I like your hobby.”

“Good. I like your leather jacket.”

Bucky frowned. “Which you are currently wearing.”

“Which further proves my point that it is a nice jacket. That would have been a good Christmas present. Just for your information. And by the way, you making sure I get recompense from Hydra is not much of a Christmas present from you.”

“You want me to give you my leather jacket?”

“You’re making it sound like there’s a problem.”

“It’s my jacket.”

“See, a present that is nice and has a personal touch. And it is something the giftee has expressed interest in. Sounds perfect to me.”

“Fine, keep it.”

“Really?” That had been ridiculously easy.

“It’s yours. Merry Christmas.”

It tore a surprised laugh from Sam’s throat. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Bucky snorted softly. He seemed satisfied. So was Sam. But mostly tired. Bone-tired. Keeping his eyes open was more and more difficult.

“Are you good with driving?” he asked Bucky. “Because I think I need a moment to close my eyes.”

“Yeah, I’m good. You can sleep.”

*

Sam woke up when the constant thrum of the car’s engine had stopped. All he could hear was some advertisement on the radio, but the volume had been turned too low to make out any actual words, just some jingles. He blinked his eyes open, disoriented. It was still dark outside, but neon light shone into the car. They’d stopped at a gas station. Bucky stood next to the fuel dispenser, hands in the pockets of his jeans.

He had turned the radio’s volume down so Sam could sleep, he had driven them here safely, he had given Sam his leather jacket, had not pressured Sam but accepted his decision (or indecisiveness)… and Sam’s chest bloomed with warmth and affection for this man, for everything from his little frown from staring at the dispenser’s display, to the stubble on his chin and cheeks, to the dirty stains on his jeans from working on the boat – he had not even changed into clean clothes before leaving.

Sam stretched his tired and aching limbs and got out of the car.

“Oh, he’s finally awake,” Bucky commented.

Sam pulled him into a hug. Bucky let it happen. His arms wrapped around Sam’s waist and he rested his chin on Sam’s shoulder. For a while, they just stood like this.

“You okay?” Bucky asked in a low voice.

Sam breathed slowly. Bucky smelled familiar. His body felt warm and safe. Sam wanted to stay like this forever.

Were they okay? Maybe not yet, maybe not fully, but Sam thought they could be, together, in the future.

“I didn’t want you to leave,” he said.

Bucky’s arms tightened around him, and Sam could feel how a long breath escaped Bucky’s chest.

“I didn’t want to leave,” Bucky said against the side of Sam’s neck.

Sam closed his eyes, shutting out the neon lights, focussing on this closeness. “Good.” Because he had already lost too many people. So had Bucky. Maybe Sarah had been right: that there was some understanding between them. Of course there were things they had each gone through that the other could never fully understand. But who hadn’t honestly? Sure, being a brainwashed assassin or being Captain America was pretty unique, but in the end they were all just people who did not want to be alone on Christmas.

“I need a coffee,” Sam said before his half-awake brain could overwhelm him with any more fundamental insights.

“Yeah, me too.”

Together, they went into the gas station’s little shop. Sam stopped at the display of reduced Christmas items next to the entrance. He laughed when he discovered a gingerbread house kit between all the candy and cheap plastic Christmas baubles.

“This is perfect. I have to buy this for Sarah.”

“Have you guys made up?”

“Oh, yeah. But this’ll definitely help put me back in her favours some more, settling a very old score, overcoming childhood grudges.”

“Consider me intrigued.”

“I’ll tell you over coffee and, uh, Snickers nutcrackers and gourmet jelly beans.”

Bucky added reindeer lollipops and candy canes.

So they sat together at the picnic table next to the shop, with all their Christmas candy, drinking coffee from paper cups. With the smell of fuel, the bright neon lights and the sounds of cars rushing by on the highway, it was not exactly a picture book winter morning. There was a chill in the air and Sam was still so tired but the coffee helped a little. It did not exactly taste good, it was too strong and bitter but they had enough candy to make up for it.

In the east, the sky was already beginning to turn blue, heralding the sunrise. They kept their conversation light, Sam telling Bucky about the gingerbread house incident and Bucky opening up about his own childhood and the shenanigans he and his sister had gotten up to during the holidays.

“Sorry for ruining Christmas this year,” Sam said.

“Are you kidding me? This has been the best Christmas since nineteen twenty– whatever, the year I got a bike.”

“Not sure if this is good news, or just depressing.”

“Definitely good.”

“That’s good to hear. But let’s make a deal: next year is gonna be even better.”

Bucky grinned. “Looking forward to it.”

They clinked their paper cups.

Chapter Text

“It says here that you need to leave time for the sides to dry before you add the roof. It’s supposed to…” Sam trailed off and lowered the instruction manual when the panels of the gingerbread house collapsed once more under Sarah’s impatient hands. She’d laughed when Sam had given her the gingerbread house kit, and insisted they build it together right after breakfast.

“I think this is just low quality,” she said. “I mean, a gingerbread house kit from a gas station? Can’t expect too much.”

“You can’t blame the gas station for you ignoring the instructions. There’s a reason the instructions are included, have you thought about that?”

“No one in their right mind reads the instructions for a gingerbread house.”

Cass snickered. He had declared that he was too old for gingerbread houses but was watching in amusement now.

“Ouch,” Sam said. “Bucky, back me up on this.”

Bucky looked up from where he was using a rolling pin to meticulously spread the fondant. With the dark bags under his eyes from not getting any sleep last night, he looked tired but relaxed nevertheless. “I don’t have any expertise in building gingerbread houses, so.”

“So you’d do the only logical thing and read the instructions, that’s what you’re saying?”

“No.” Bucky grinned. “I got you to do it for me.”

“Yeah, fine. That works, too.”

“If it works for you two, great,” Sarah said. “But I’m not letting you boss me around. This is my gingerbread house.”

“Careful or this is quickly gonna become a reboot of the 1986 incident.”

Sarah lifted the piping bag and pointed it at Sam like a weapon. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“We’re only joking,” Sam whispered to AJ, who was starting to look a little worried. AJ put on a grin to show he was in on the joke, and got back to sorting the candy for the roof.

Sam said, louder again, “Alright, there’s only one solution. A gingerbread house competition.”

“Oh yes, can we each make our own?” AJ asked.

“And have five gingerbread houses in our house?” Sarah said.

“Four,” Cass said. “I’ll be the judge.”

Sarah snorted. “Alright. But everyone has to use the same kit.”

“You want me to go back to the gas station?” Sam said.

“A local grocery would do. But it has to be the exact same kit. Wouldn’t be fair otherwise.”

“Fair? You already have a head start.”

“You call that a head start?” Bucky gave a pointed look at the collapsed and sticky walls.

“Okay, good point.”

“It’s last place and second last place for the two of you,” Sarah threatened them.

One hour later, Sam came back with just one gingerbread house kit. It was the last one he had found.

“Looks like we have to work in teams. I was thinking we – what is going on here?”

Sarah had made pink icing and Bucky was cutting windows out of fondant for AJ to stick to the wall panels while Cass was writing some kind of list, presumably assessment criteria for gingerbread house building skills.

“Oh, so that’s how it is? We’re playing Team Everyone against Team Sam?” Sam said in mock-outrage. It was actually sweet, seeing them all working together like that. But he also was competitive and, during the drive here, had constructed an award-winning gingerbread house in his head that he was itching to build.

“Sarah made her own icing,” Bucky informed him. “It’s powdered sugar, egg whites and a secret ingredient she refuses to share.”

“I bet it’s salt. It’s always a pinch of salt.”

“Well, it’s definitely not in the instructions,” Sarah said. “Good luck, Sam.”

So he set to work, with a maniac energy that came from not enough sleep and his will to defeat impossible odds. He unfolded the piece of paper with the instructions, sorted the ingredients and followed every step faithfully. It should work with this icing if he built the house exactly as instructed. However, it was a little tricky doing it alone. He tried to stabilise the wall panels with mugs so they wouldn’t collapse, but it would be a lot easier if he had a second set of hands. He gave Bucky, who was watching him closely, an expectant look.

“I could really use a hand here,” Sam said when Bucky made no move to come over from the other end of the table. And when that still didn’t do the trick, he added, “Oh, come on, move your…self over here.”

Bucky gave one of his self-satisfied grins and sauntered over. “Sure. What can I do?”

“Hold these for me.” He indicated the two walls that had been propped up by the mugs.

“No, Bucky is on our team!” AJ protested.

“Seems unfair, three against one, huh?” Bucky said and did as Sam had told him.

“So you’re part of Sam’s team now?” Cass whipped up his notebook to document the change in the competition.

“I’m always on Sam’s team.”

It was just a silly competition against his nephews, but Bucky’s declaration made Sam feel all warm inside. AJ was still complaining but Cass and Sarah agreed that two against two was only fair.

It definitely was easier doing this together. Sam could add the other two wall panels and Bucky held them so they wouldn’t collapse. It also meant there was nothing to do now but wait for the icing to dry. They stood really close, with both of them holding the walls up so they formed a square. Sam looked down at their fingers that were almost touching.

“So. What’s your plan?” Bucky asked eventually. “You want to go for an exact replica of the picture on the box? Or will you allow for some creativity?”

“Whoa, that’s rich coming from the man with the most minimalist apartment I’ve ever been in. But, fine. You can use this gingerbread house as a practicing opportunity. Go wild with the decorations. As long as the walls and roof are built according to the instructions, we should be good. Oh, and I want to use these candy sticks as columns next to the door. And it should have a cute little chimney. That’s what makes it festive, right? And I was thinking a path leading up to the house, with gumdrops as bushes.”

“Sounds like you have a plan.”

Sam looked up to see Bucky smiling at him. His own lips automatically formed a smile in return and his cheeks were suddenly very warm. “Of course I have a plan. But you are allowed to make suggestions.”

Bucky nodded, still smiling. “Yeah, great partnership.”

“I insist on windows, by the way. You’re not turning this into a Winter Soldier hiding place. I want to win a competition.”

“How do you feel about round windows on the upper floor?”

“Nice.”

“And flowers on the window sills.”

“Sure you can keep flowers alive? Wouldn’t you rather start with cactuses?”

Bucky hesitated for a moment. Then he said, “I could set up a reminder on my phone to water the flowers. Or there’s some kind of app, I’m sure. There’s always an app.”

Sam snorted. “I’d like to see it.”

Bucky kept silent. When Sam looked up again, Bucky was watching him closely. This was a lot. Sam’s gut reaction was to get away from this situation but if he let go, their gingerbread house would collapse. His second gut reaction was to say something silly.

Bucky beat him to it. “Why’re the flowers my sole responsibility?”

“You wanna make a housework schedule?”

“I thought you were the one who liked plans.”

“I do. Okay, here we go. I obviously do the cooking.”

“Fine with me.”

“What chores are you good at, aside from lifting heavy objects?”

“I don’t mind cleaning. And Redwing can remove the cobwebs.”

That seemed a good arrangement. Bucky’s apartment, although depressingly bleak, always looked clean. “Got it, cleaning is your job, Redwing’s on cobweb duty. And gardening is my kind of thing.”

“I like gardening, too.”

“Then we can do that together.”

“Good.”

It was followed by another moment of silence. Bucky was biting his lip like he was itching to say something. There was a smudge of Sarah’s pink icing on his right temple. There was even some on his vibranium arm. Everything about him had just slotted in here. Already now Sam could tell that if Bucky wasn’t around for next Christmas, it would feel like something was missing. It would also be nice to have him around for, say, Halloween. Bucky would probably scoff at the ridiculously expensive plastic skeletons and other supposedly spooky decorations, but he’d definitely enjoy all the holiday themed candy, pumpkin spiced latte and other too sugary drinks, and he would go wild carving pumpkins with his knife skills. They would win all the pumpkin carving contests!

“I mean, we’d need a garden to do gardening,” Bucky said. “It’s not like either of us has a garden right now.”

Sam chuckled. Well played. Could he live with that kind of cheekiness every day? Sooner or later he’d snap and… kiss that stupid grin off Bucky’s face. Maybe. When they had a place of their own. Yes, he was actually looking forward to it, had sometimes pictured living together, and ever since that disastrous car as a gift, the thought had been planted in his head: Bucky giving him a house key instead of a car key. But Sam had made his point clear, that he did not want such big gifts and did not like to feel pressured. So it was really his own fault that he had to be the one to ask now.

“Is that something you’d want? Moving in together?”

It was worth it for the happy smile that spread over Bucky’s face. “I’d do it. What about you?”

“I say let’s see how we fare with this gingerbread house. If we’re successful, we could give a real house a try next.”

Bucky’s eyes sparked. He could never resist a challenge. Neither could Sam.

So what if they looked up pictures of ‘gingerbread house contest winners’ on their phones? What if they spent hours carving tiles for the roof, long after Sarah and AJ had finished theirs? And if they googled colour schemes to figure out the best decoration plan, placed lanterns and a little fence in their garden with fingers that were starting to get shaky from the combination of too little sleep and too much sugar?

In the midst of all this frenzy, Sam had a sudden epiphany.

“I think I should destroy the house.”

“What?!” Bucky protectively held his hands over the little Christmas tree in front of the house, which he had just decorated with icing and candy beads.

“I don’t want you to think I’m looking for excuses.”

“Excuses for what?”

“Moving in with you. I’d do it, even if this house turned out a mess and we lost.”

Bucky’s face softened. “That’s… a nice thought. But don’t destroy the house, please.”

“Oh, good, I was really hoping you’d say that. That’s why I didn’t just smash it without a warning. It’d be a shame, after all the work we put in.”

“Glad we can agree on that. Also, I don’t think we’re gonna lose. I heard Sarah bribe Cass to declare us the winning team.”

“I can’t believe she’d do that! This calls for vengeance.”

“How do you avenge something like that?”

“We find a nice guy for her and set them up, meddle in their love life, you know, make sure they have some alone time without the boys around, that kind of thing.”

“Good plan, I’m in. Now, what do you think about a Santa poking out of the chimney?”

“Absolutely.”

Like they needed any bribery to win! Theirs was without a doubt the best gingerbread house Sam had ever seen. Even Sarah had to admit so when Cass announced the winning team (and denied any accusations of bribery). Sam took a selfie of himself and Bucky posing next to their gingerbread house. They looked a little exhausted and overworked but their house was perfect.

“Nice picture,” Bucky said, looking over his shoulder.

“Yeah.” Sam added the caption ‘goals’.

“Goals for what?”

“For the next year.”

“So a goal for us, not us setting an example for others to follow?”

Sam chuckled. “You mean like those people who caption pictures of us with #husband goals? No, we’re not that good yet.”

“But we make a good team.”

Sam turned around to look at Bucky, who was watching him expectantly, his eyes twinkling in amusement. “Yeah. We do.”

Sam was looking forward to it: finding or even building a house together, yes, but more than that. He had used ‘goals’, plural. His personal goal was to open up and give their relationship a try. Maybe kiss Bucky if there was the right moment for it and Sam felt like he was ready and could give Bucky what he wanted. Not under the mistletoe, obviously, not a kiss to provoke or compete or experiment, but a real kiss in the right situation. Bucky would surely find enough opportunities to set him up (without putting any pressure on Sam). Maybe it was not so much ‘setting him up’ but more of ‘giving him the chance’ to do it.