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“All right, I think I’ve got all the names in now,” Steve says, grinning as he holds up one of Peter’s ski hats. “So, who wants to go first?”
“Oh, oh, oh! I want to, Papa!” Peter exclaims, bouncing in his chair with his hand raised like he’s in school or something. “Please, please, please?”
“Good grief, buddy, you're acting like you're gonna implode,” Tony says from next to Steve. “Just give the old man a second, yeah?”
“No harm in the kid liking Christmas, Tony,” Natasha pipes up from her seat at the breakfast bar, her chin resting on her hand as she grins at Peter. “Especially when he usually gives out the best gifts.”
“Ah! That one was aimed straight at the heart!” Tony says, pressing his palm to his chest in dramatic fashion. “But, as shocking as it may be, Widow, I actually agree with you. And since Pete is my kid, that means I get to take full credit for his impeccable gift-giving abilities.” He looks up as Steve clears his throat. “Oh, um… actually, I’ll give Steve twelve percent of the credit.”
“Twelve percent?” protests Steve. “That’s all I get?”
Tony shrugs, eyeing his husband. “Well… an argument can be made for fifteen.”
“No, I’m pretty sure Peter’s gift-giving abilities are all his, guys. Sorry,” insists Natasha. “Especially since he’s the only one who still buys me Legos every year.”
“Aww,” Peter says, his pale cheeks flushing pink as he lowers his hand. “Thanks, Auntie Nat.”
“All right, little guy, here you go,” Steve says as he offers Peter the hat. Bucky smiles at the fond look Steve gives his son, one that he never sees Steve give anyone else.
Actually, now that Bucky thinks about it, Steve and Natasha aren’t the only ones with their very own Peter-smiles. Ever since Bucky was first brought to Avengers Tower after the Project Insight mess and slowly coaxed back to himself, he’s observed that just about every occupant of the Tower has their own version of it.
Not that that’s surprising. His own complicated history with Peter aside, Bucky is certain he’s never met a more kind and lovable kid than their team’s Spider-Man.
“Only one slip now, right? We gotta make sure we keep the cheer spread out,” Steve says as Peter rummages around, his nose adorably scrunched. He pulls out one of the folded slips of paper, glancing slyly around the kitchen before bringing it below the table to open it.
“Oh, awesome!” Peter says as he crumples the paper in his hand. “This is gonna be so much fun!”
“Oh, it is, huh?” Sam says, rather conspiratorially from across the table. He leans forward, waggling his eyebrows in Peter’s direction. “Who’d ya get, kiddo, huh? Huh, huh, huh?”
Peter raises his eyebrow, shoving his paper into his back pocket. “Nice try, Uncle Sam, but I’m not telling you,” he says. “I’m pretty sure the reason why they call it a Secret Santa is ‘cause it’s s’posed to be a secret! That’s what makes it fun!”
“Yeah, Captain,” Tony says, sending a wink in Sam’s direction. “Don't worry, I’m sure you’ll get your turn soon.”
“Well, all right then,” Sam says. “Bring that hat on over here, Steve, and let’s see what happens.”
“All right,” Steve says as he steps over to Sam. Bucky’s heart flutters a little as he watches Sam dig his hand into the hat, the grin on his handsome face getting wider and wider as he finally pulls out one of the slips of paper.
It’s like he has no idea just how fucking gorgeous he is, sitting there all casually between Bruce and Clint like he’s not Captain America, the newly-crowned leader of the Avengers, who just a few months ago helped save the world—no, the entire universe —from a genocidal alien with a super-powered rock collection.
Like he’s just a normal guy who doesn’t have a care in the world.
Except for whose name Peter picked out of the hat, apparently.
“Aw, yeah,” Sam says as he reads his name under the table, then tucks the paper into his pocket. “I got a good one.”
“Oh?” Clint asks. “And who’d you get there, hmm, Mr Wingman?”
Sam laughs, shaking his finger. “Oh, wouldn't you like to know!”
“Well, yeah, I kinda would,” says Clint with a shrug. “That’s why I asked.”
“Ah huh,” says Sam. “Nice try, Hawkeye. But my lips are sealed.”
Sam looks down at the table then, tilting his head like he’s contemplating something, and almost immediately Bucky is hit with the wild notion that the name Sam pulled out of the hat is his.
And then, on the very next heartbeat, he starts to panic, not sure which possibility would be easier for him to handle. In the year-plus since he first realised his feelings for Sam were absolutely not of the platonic variety, it’s like Bucky’s been on edge around him, unable to stop micro-analysing every single one of their interactions in a so far very poor attempt to determine if Sam might possibly like him back.
It’s gotten so ridiculous that about three weeks ago, after Sam asked Bucky if he wanted to go see The Lion King on Broadway on New Year’s Day with Natasha and Clint, Bucky actually broke down and asked Peter for advice on what to do.
To which Peter promptly replied with, “Well, why don't you just say ‘yes’? You wanna go, don't you?”
“Well, yeah, of course I do. But it’s not that simple,” Bucky tried to tell him.
“Um… but it actually kinda is,” Peter said with a frown. “You like Uncle Sam, you guys spend all kinds of time together doing couply things, and now he’s asking you to go see a really awesome musical with another couple. I’m sorry, Uncle Bucky, but it seems like a no-brainer to me.”
“Yeah, but…” Bucky trailed off, kicking himself for bringing it up in the first place. He should've known better than to ask Peter, the only member of their team who’s not even old enough to buy beer yet. “Nevermind, kiddo. I’ll figure it out.”
“Uh huh,” Peter said warily. Thankfully, he took his cue from Bucky’s non-response and changed the subject back to the football game they were watching. But in the days since then, the conversation has stuck with Bucky, nagging in the back of his mind like an unscratchable itch.
Could it actually be possible that Sam might like him back? And that he, like Bucky, is just too afraid/nervous/insert-your-own-descriptor-here to do anything definitive about it?
The possibility is almost too much for Bucky to even contemplate, so he tries like hell to not do so that much.
The last thing he needs is to drive himself even more bonkers than he already is. Which he can’t really say in front of Peter, but, oh well.
“Well, I am positive there is no such thing as a bad one in this bunch, so…” Steve says as he holds up the hat, shaking it. “Any volunteers for who goes next?”
After a few seconds of silence, Bruce volunteers to choose next. He’s followed by Natasha, Clint, Tony, and Steve, who then turns to Bucky, holding the hat out in front of him.
“All right, Buck, you're the last one,” he says.
“Oh ho, you better be careful then!” says Sam. “You never know whose name managed to slip through everyone else’s fingers and wind up in yours.”
“But I’ll know,” Bucky says, grinning as his fingers close around the scrap of paper. “‘Cause that’s the whole point of this thing, isn’t it?”
“Yep,” Peter says as Bucky brings the paper under the table. Then he smooths it out and takes a peek, his heart jumping when he sees Sam’s name staring back at him.
“Oh, shit!” he whispers, thankfully not loudly enough for anyone without enhanced hearing to hear. Peter’s head snaps up though, his look of curiosity mixed with concern quickly morphing into one of sympathetic understanding.
Sam Wilson, the paper reads, in Sam’s neat, block-printed script. And now, for the next week, Bucky will be responsible for playing Secret Santa for the man he’s got a crush on the size of Thanos’ ego.
“All right, guys, the hat’s empty, so I think we got everyone,” Steve says. “We’ll do The Big Reveal on Christmas Eve at 1900 hours.”
A chorus of affirmations rise up from the table, followed by the loud scraping of chairs as everyone gets up to leave. Bucky stands to his feet slowly, the paper still crumpled in his left hand as he looks over at Peter, silently pleading with him to stay.
“Bucky?” Sam says from across the table, almost causing Bucky to jump. “You coming back downstairs?”
“No!” Bucky practically yelps, kicking himself a second later for acting like such a fucking idiot. He points awkwardly at Peter, who’s biting down on his bottom lip like he’s trying not to laugh. “Ahh, I mean, not yet. I’ve… gotta talk to the kid ‘bout something first.”
Sam’s eyebrows knit together as his eyes flick between Bucky and Peter. “Um… okay. Long as you guys aren’t planning to blow something up again.”
“Oh my Goooddd, Uncle Sam,” Peter groans. “That was only one time! And—”
“Yeah, well, next time your ‘one time’ can be in your own damn apartment, okay?” Sam cuts in. “I don't need anymore singe marks on my couch.”
“Yeah, yeah, Sam, we got it,” Bucky says, apparently a bit too impatiently when Sam shoots him a look. “Sorry… I just—”
“No, no, I get it,” Sam says as he starts backing away. “We still on for the gym this afternoon?”
Oh, shit!
“Ahh, yeah,” replies Bucky, gulping. “I—I’ll text you.”
“Cool,” says Sam. “You two enjoy your… plotting.”
As soon as they’re alone in the kitchen, Bucky turns to Peter. “What the hell am I gonna do now? How’m I supposed to buy him a bunch of gifts and stuff and keep it all a secret without lettin’ him know how I feel?”
“Okay, okay, just… hold on for a second,” Peter says. He gives Bucky a look, one that Steve always calls his duh look. “Why’re you so convinced that Uncle Sam’s gonna be repulsed by what you get him or something? I keep telling you that he likes you too, but you insist on not believing me, so…?”
Bucky shakes his head, staring down at the scrap of paper in his palm. Leave it to Peter to once again cut through all of his bullshit and get right to the heart of the issue.
“I don't know, kiddo,” he finally says. “I’d say that I know nothing about how courting or dating is supposed to go in this century, but that wouldn’t exactly be true, so—”
“No, ‘cause I’ve already told you a bunch of stuff about it, just like I had to explain it all to Papa after he got found in the ice,” says Peter. “Especially how it’s okay for guys to like other guys now.”
“Yeah, I know,” Bucky says, only a little impatiently. “Steve told me about all that stuff too.”
“All right,” Peter says. “So then, what’s the problem?”
Bucky growls in frustration. “It’s just not that simple, kiddo. Sam… he’s just… well… he’s Sam. He’s amazing, and funny, and smart, and fucking hot, besides all that, he’s Captain America. And I’m just—”
“You're Sergeant Barnes,” Peter cuts in. “Or Uncle Bucky, or just Bucky, whichever you feel like using at the moment. And you're also funny, and fun, and you're an awesome Avenger, and part of our family. So why wouldn't Uncle Sam like you?”
“Mmm,” Bucky grumbles. He doesn’t really feel like spelling out exactly why Sam should just stay the hell away from him. Not when he’s already told himself why about a million and a half times.
“You think you're not worthy of him or something, Uncle Bucky?” Peter gently asks. “Is that it?”
Bucky doesn’t answer right away, which he knows means that Peter’s hit the nail right on the head. And it only takes about three more heartbeats for Peter to figure out the same thing.
“I thought that’s what it was,” he says, crossing his skinny arms. “You feel like explaining why you think that?”
“Hmph,” Bucky scoffs. “You're the mind reader, so why don't you tell me?”
Peter frowns, tilting his head. “I don't think I'd call myself a mind reader. Dad just likes to say that I’m perceptive.”
“Eh, same thing,” says Bucky.
“Okay, whatever.” Peter huffs out a sharp breath, eyeing Bucky warily. “I think you think that because of what you did, you don't deserve to be happy.”
Yep. Definitely a mind reader.
“Well—” Bucky starts.
“Which is a bunch of bullshit, if you ask me,” Peter states. “Especially since we’ve been over this about a thousand times already. And so has Papa, and Uncle Bruce, and Dad, and—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know, kiddo,” Bucky says. “The whole brainwashing, ‘personal autonomy’ thing, yadda, yadda, yadda.”
Peter’s nose scrunches in surprise. “Have you been watching Seinfeld again?”
Bucky feels his cheeks flushing as he drops his gaze to the table. “Sam and I like to watch it after dinner sometimes.”
“Sometimes?” Peter asks.
“Okay, most of the time,” Bucky says quickly. “We either watch that or Friends. Why?”
Peter blinks. “Yeah, okay, and the fact that you two spend almost every single evening together watching sitcoms that are twenty-five years old isn’t a good enough clue that maybe Uncle Sam might like you back?”
“Well…” Bucky taps his fingertips on the table, amused at the sound the metal makes against the hard, polished wood. “I guess when you put it that way…”
“Ah huh,” says Peter. “And why does this sound so familiar?” He shifts on his feet, reaching for the paper that Bucky dropped on the table. “Look, does it help at all if I tell you that both of my dads were scared as hell too when they realised they liked each other? I mean, Papa was already living with us and we were pretty much already acting like a family, and it still took them forever to admit how they felt. Honestly, after a while it got kinda annoying.”
Bucky thinks for a moment, then shakes his head. “Yeah, no, that actually doesn’t help at all.”
Peter rolls his eyes. “Okay, look, there’s no point in just going over this same conversation again,” he says. “If you want more with Uncle Sam than just a friendship, you're gonna have to put yourself out there. At least a little. And I know that sucks, okay? My girlfriend’s dad is a cop, so I know pretty well how terrifying it can be to take that leap. But I also have a strong feeling that Uncle Sam’s just as scared to take the leap as you are. Only instead of cowering about it, he’s asking you to work out with him and go see The Lion King.”
“But that still doesn't mean he’s askin’ me out on a date!” Bucky insists. “People go to musicals all the time as friends!”
Peter shoots him his duh look. “Pretty sure they don’t when it’s on New Year’s Day and with another couple, Uncle Bucky! I mean, come on! Are you wantin’ him to hold up a sign that says, ‘Please date me’ or something?”
The mental image that pops into Bucky’s head is so ludicrous that he can’t help but laugh. “Well, I can't say that wouldn't be nice,” he says. “Least then I'd know for sure.”
Peter groans. “Okay, but I’m pretty sure they weren’t even doing that a hundred years ago.”
“Well…” Bucky says, thinking of how many soldiers he saw propose to their loves in letters during the war. “In a way, they kinda did.”
That earns him another eyeroll from the kid. “Okay, but you know what I mean, right?”
“Yeah, yeah, kiddo, I do,” says Bucky. He glances down at the paper in his hand, then shoves it into his pocket. “So, you got any ideas for what I can get him?”
“Um, I can probably think of a few, but you're the one who spends the most time with him,” says Peter. “So if anyone knows what he likes best, it’d be you.”
Bucky drums his fingertips on the tabletop again, thinking about what he and Sam like to talk about the most. There’s the team, of course. Ever since the news conference where Steve publicly passed the shield down to Sam, he and Bucky have been talking quite a bit about the immense responsibility Sam feels in accepting such an iconic symbol. Or, more accurately, Bucky’s been doing a lot of listening while Sam talks about it, trying to learn how to be supportive without interjecting too many of his own out-of-date notions.
Besides that, Sam loves to talk about growing up in Louisiana with his sister, and spending time on his parents’ boat. Besides his two nephews, he especially misses the food, often lamenting to Bucky that he can’t find any decent gumbo in New York City. Sam’s cooked it for Bucky a couple of times, but with their busy schedules he often doesn’t have enough time to make it “the right way”, according to him.
Hmm. Maybe that’s one thing I can try, Bucky thinks. He looks at Peter, giving him a pleading look.
“Think you could help me figure out some things?”
“I mean, I guess,” Peter says. “But I’m pretty sure JARVIS can help you with whatever you need. Just ask him.”
Bucky hesitates. He doesn't like to admit it, but talking to the ceiling whenever he has a question or wants something—and having that same ceiling actually answer back—is sometimes just a bit too on the nose for him.
But if it’s for Sam, he’ll do it. Because Sam deserves only the best.
“Yeah, okay,” Bucky says. “Thanks, kiddo.”
Peter shrugs, giving Bucky a warm smile. “Thanks, but I didn't really do anything.”
“Yeah, you did.” Bucky claps Peter on the shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “So, whose name did you draw, hmm?”
“Uh uh! I’m not tellin’ you!” Peter protests.
“Why not?” Bucky asks. “I told you who I got!”
“Oh, no, no, Uncle Bucky, that was all on you,” Peter says. “And I’m sorry, but you're just gonna have to find out who I have on Christmas Night along with everyone else.”
“Mmm, fine,” grumbles Bucky. “Be that way.”
“Thanks. I will,” Peter says mischievously. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I'm supposed to be FaceTimeing with Gwen.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Bucky chuckles as he watches Peter rush out of the kitchen, no doubt already thinking of ways to blame Bucky for being late in calling his girlfriend. Making his way towards the penthouse elevator, Bucky takes it down ten floors to his apartment, set right across the hall from Sam’s. As soon as he’s inside, he heads straight for his bedroom, tucking the paper with Sam’s name on it underneath his pillow. Then he plops down onto the bed and looks up at the ceiling, eyeing it suspiciously.
“Uhh, hey JARVIS?” he asks.
“At your service, Sergeant Barnes,” answers the UI. “How may I assist you?”
“Yeah… uhh… I need to figure out how to get some of Sam’s sister’s gumbo from her restaurant up here,” he says. “And it’s gotta be hot. Like we’re eating it at the restaurant.”
There's barely a second’s pause before JARVIS replies. “That will not be a problem, Sergeant. I regularly obtain various food items for both Mr Stark and Director Rogers in similar fashion.”
“Really?” Bucky asks. “Steve asks you to get stuff for him?”
“Mr Stark usually asks on the director’s behalf,” answers JARVIS.
“Ah. Yeah, that makes more sense,” says Bucky. “Um… when do you think you could have it here?”
“Would this evening work?” JARVIS asks.
“This evening!” Bucky exclaims. “Uhh… that’s a bit soon, so…” He tilts his head, counting the number of days remaining till Christmas. “Um… would the evening of the 23rd work? Christmas Eve eve?”
“Of course, Sergeant. Would you like it delivered following Captain Wilson’s scheduled meeting with Director Rogers?”
“Ah, yeah. Yeah, that sounds good,” says Bucky. Sam’s meeting with Steve will give Bucky an excellent excuse for begging off eating dinner with him that night. “Ahh, and you can’t tell anyone that I’m the one ordering it, okay? It’s supposed to be a surprise.”
“Very good, Sergeant,” says JARVIS. “Will there be anything else?”
“Yeah, but I gotta think first,” Bucky answers. “It okay if I get back to you on that?”
“Of course, Sergeant,” JARVIS says. “I am always available.”
“Thanks.” Pushing himself up to his feet, Bucky heads into his kitchen, and the notepad he keeps on the counter. Like Steve, Bucky enjoys making paper lists, as he likes having a physical copy of stuff rather than constantly having to look on his phone. Picking up a pencil, Bucky flips open the notebook to a clean page and writes Sam’s name across the top, marking a series of bullet points down the left margin.
“Gumbo from Sarah’s,” he mutters as he writes it down next to the bottommost bullet point. Then he taps the eraser against his chin, thinking. While he doesn’t want to think about how much it’s going to cost to get the food brought up from Louisiana, he knows it has to be a lot. Tony’s always told him that all the Avengers’ expenses are fully covered, pretty much with no questions asked, but Bucky still feels weird about spending what he feels to be exorbitant amounts of money on things he considers to be frivolous.
But since they’ll be gifts for Sam, Bucky supposes he can get over his reluctance. Because Sam deserves only the best.
“Ah, JARVIS?” Bucky asks. “Do you know if the Mets still have any season tickets available for next season?”
“I’m seeing three available seats along the first baseline, Sergeant,” replies JARVIS. “However, Mr Stark keeps a box available for the Avengers’ use, so—”
“Yeah, but I think Sam would wanna just be at the game instead of sittin’ in some box somewhere,” says Bucky. “Can you order those tickets for me? Please?”
There’s a short pause before JARVIS answers. “Of course, Sergeant. When would you like them delivered?”
“Ahh, the 22nd,” Bucky answers. He writes down Mets season tickets on the second bullet point, tapping the tip of his pencil on the cross of the T.
One more should do it.
“Okay, okay, so…” Bucky whispers, racking his brain for what else he could try. He looks over towards the living room, where the drawing easel Sam helped him set up sits in the corner by the windows, to take advantage of the natural light that comes in during the afternoons. While it doesn’t get used as much as Bucky might’ve hoped it would, he still remembers how much fun he and Sam had trying to figure out how to put it together.
In fact, that was when Bucky first realised that his feelings for Sam went beyond friendship. Sam was telling him and Peter a story about Riley, his former paratrooper partner, that was so unbelievably bonkers that both Bucky and Peter were practically peeing themselves from laughing. After wiping the tears from his eyes, Bucky looked over at Sam and saw his beautiful lips curled into a smile, and that, as they say, was that.
“All right,” Bucky whispers as he writes it down next to the top bullet point. “Ah, JARVIS?”
“Yes, Sergeant?”
“Um, you know that picture of Sam and his old partner, Riley? The one that’s in his EXO-Falcon file?”
“Do you mean this photograph, Sergeant?” JARVIS asks as a holographic projection of Sam and Riley dressed in their Falcon suits appears over the counter.
“Yep, that's the one,” Bucky says. “Ahh, do you think you could get a copy of that framed for him? Normal picture size?”
“I'd be happy to, Sergeant,” says JARVIS. “When would you like it delivered?”
“The 21st,” Bucky says. “So that’ll be the first one.”
“Very good, Sergeant,” JARVIS says. “It will be done.”
“And remember, don't tell Sam who this stuff’s from, right?”
“There is no need to be concerned, Sergeant Barnes,” says JARVIS. “My lips are sealed.”
Yeah, if you actually had lips, Bucky thinks, before adding what he hopes is a sincere, “Thanks.”
“You are most welcome,” replies JARVIS.
After double-checking the list, Bucky closes the notebook, already second-guessing his choices. Sam’s told Bucky about Riley a few times, and while he hasn’t specifically said that their relationship was anything more than just partners, Bucky suspects that it was. There's just something about the way that Sam talks about him that seems like there was more than just friendship there.
Bucky can understand it. War is stressful as fuck, and Bucky saw plenty of guys crack under the pressure of the near-constant fear that the enemy could take you out at any given moment. Having someone by his side that he loved probably helped keep Sam sane.
And he can’t imagine how hard it must’ve been for Sam to lose Riley like he did. Bucky lost his share of squadron-mates during the war, but no one that he could say he was in love with. Maybe by acknowledging how much Riley meant to Sam, Bucky can help give Sam some peace about how he lost him.
“Well,” Bucky says as he puts the notebook away in a drawer. “I guess that’s as good as it’s gonna get.”
“Pardon me, Sergeant Barnes?” JARVIS suddenly says. “I didn't quite catch that?”
“Huh? Oh, nothing,” Bucky says quickly. “Just… talking to myself.”
Just like the crazy person that I am, he thinks as he pads over to his refrigerator, grabbing some leftover pizza from last night. So why the hell would Sam ever want me?
Just like he ordered, Sam’s first gift arrives the morning of the 21st. Bucky sees the package resting against Sam’s door as he exits his apartment to meet with Tony, who’s been doing some more tinkering with Bucky’s arm. As the elevator opens into the penthouse, Peter pops up from the couch like a spring, a quizzical look on his face.
“So, how’s it going?” he asks in a loud whisper. “Does Uncle Sam like his stuff so far?”
“I don't know yet, kiddo,” replies Bucky. “The first one’s sittin’ outside his door right now.”
Peter nods, sending curls flopping down over his forehead. “Okay. I’m sure it’s gonna be fine.”
“Yeah, let’s hope so,” Bucky says.
But later that day when Bucky meets up with Sam in the gym, Bucky’s confidence decides to take a ride on the Cyclone. It starts when Sam hardly says a word that afternoon while they work out, finally telling Bucky that he’s just having a rough day and not to worry about it. Bucky, of course, takes this as permission to start second-guessing his entire plan, barely sleeping that night as he laments that he’s probably just ruined whatever relationship he and Sam might’ve had.
The next day is a bit better. Sam mentions how surprised he was when he discovered the season tickets, telling Bucky that the two of them will have to catch a few of the games once the season starts in the spring. Bucky agrees; he’s always enjoyed a good baseball game, even if the Mets are nowhere near the same as his old beloved Dodgers. But he can’t help but think that Sam’s merely being polite in asking him, rather than actually wanting him to go.
By the time the 23rd rolls around, Bucky’s so on edge that he almost cancels going to the gym, showing up over five minutes late to find Sam already at the squat machine.
“Well, it’s about time you decided to show up,” Sam says as Bucky sets his towel and Gatorade down and takes a seat on the leg press. “Was starting to think you were gonna ditch me.”
Bucky’s belly swoops as he sets his weights. “Nah,” he says. “Wouldn't do that without callin’ or something.”
“Well, that’s good.” Sam grunts as he squats down, his powerful quads nearly bursting as he pushes back up. “So, you getting anything good from your Secret Santa?”
“Well…” Bucky hesitates before answering, because he’s actually gotten a couple of really nice things. His first gift was a full set of oil-based paints like the kind that Steve uses, and his second was a new Star Wars phone case, featuring his favourite character Anakin Skywalker. Both of which are leading him to believe that it’s either Peter or Steve who drew his name.
“Yeah, I’ve gotten some good stuff,” says Bucky. “Definitely can’t complain.”
“Well, that’s good,” Sam says as he squats down again, clenching his jaw as he pushes back up. “You got any guesses as to who’s got you?”
Bucky shoots him a look as he lowers the leg press. “Ah, yeah, I got a couple. But if you think I’m gonna tell you, you are absolutely wrong.”
“Aw, c’mon man,” Sam protests as he sets the barbell back on its stand. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”
“No!” Bucky yelps, his heart starting to thud. “We’re not supposed to say before Christmas!”
Sam shoots him a weird look. “Okay, so maybe that might’ve been a rule back when you were a kid, but I’m pretty sure not even Steve said that we’re not allowed to guess.”
“Well, yeah… but still,” Bucky says, way too petulantly. “I just don't wanna.”
Sam shakes his head as he leans closer to Bucky, waggling his eyebrows. “Ah huh, I see how it is,” he says. “You’re worried I’m gonna guess right ‘cause you still don’t got a clue who’s got you.”
“I’ve got plenty of clues!” Bucky says, his innate competitiveness rearing its ugly head. “And I know I'm right, too.”
“Well, all right, then prove it,” Sam says, crossing his arms. “Tell me who your guess is.”
“Nuh uh,” Bucky says, shaking his head. “If we’re gonna do this, you're the one who’s going first.”
“Okay, okay, easy enough, Sergeant,” says Sam. “I think mine’s the kid.”
Bucky lets out a noise that can only be described as pathetic, his heart transforming into a literal block of ice. He presses his palm to his chest, clearing his throat as he tries to figure out if Sam’s joking or not.
“Ahh, you think it’s Peter?” he finally manages to say.
“You know of any other kids on the team?” Sam asks.
“No,” Bucky says, a bit too forcefully when Sam raises an eyebrow. “I just… what makes you think it’s him?”
A sort of pained shadow crosses Sam’s face, just for a heartbeat or two before it disappears.
“You heard Nat talking when we were picking names, about how Peter’s one of the best gift-givers around?” Sam says softly.
“Uhh, yeah?” Bucky says, fighting the urge to brace himself.
Sam drops his head, fiddling with the towel draped over the barbell. “Well… I’m starting to think she was right, ‘cause… I swear I couldn't’ve gotten better stuff if I asked for it. That kid has definitely got a sixth sense or something.”
“You mean a seventh sense, don't ya?” Bucky manages to say. “‘Cause Tony n’ Steve are always callin’ that Spider Sense of his a sixth sense.”
“Yeah, sure,” Sam says, rolling his eyes. “But you know what I mean.”
Bucky gulps, wishing he could come up with a decent excuse to get the hell out of there. “Sure, Sam,” he finally says. “Whatever you say.”
Sam gives him another weird look. “Okay. So who do you think’s got you?”
“Uhh… well…” Bucky stammers. “I guess I thought the kid might’ve been mine too, but he obviously can’t have both of us, so…” He trails off, blotting at his face with his towel. “I’m gonna head back upstairs now. I’m… just not feeling it today.”
“You okay?” Sam asks, his face etched with concern. “Anything you wanna talk about?”
“Nope,” Bucky says as he grabs his Gatorade bottle. “I’ll see ya later.”
He manages to make it to his apartment before the screech he’s been holding back finally escapes. Bucky rakes his fingers through his hair, trying to come up with any possible excuse to skip out on the Secret Santa reveal tomorrow night.
He thinks it’s the kid! Bucky thinks as he yanks so hard on his hair that he winces. Oh God, he’s gonna be so disappointed!
Maybe he can stay just long enough for the reveal and then take off. Hopefully without Peter following him to ask him what’s wrong.
It’s a long shot. But since Bucky’s still a pretty kick-ass sharpshooter, he figures he should at least have a fighting chance.
The morning of Christmas Eve dawns sunny and frigid, typical of New York City for as long as Bucky can remember. After telling JARVIS to hold any messages unless they’re team-related or from Peter, Bucky mopes around his apartment the entire day, forgoing his usual exercise and drawing routine as he tries to think of a way to tell Sam that he’ll be skipping out on The Lion King.
If Sam doesn’t feel the same way about Bucky as Bucky feels about him, then Bucky needs to start keeping his distance. Otherwise, it’ll just be too painful.
Finally, at 1840, Bucky takes a shower, pulls on his nicest jeans and t-shirt, and combs his hair, glaring at his reflection in the mirror once he’s done. He should’ve seen this coming a long time ago, that he was just too blind by his own desire for Sam to think there could even be the slightest possibility of Sam returning his feelings.
Sucking in a deep breath, Bucky heads for his front door. As soon as he steps into the hallway, he’s hit with the overwhelming smell of shrimp, okra, and pepper sauce coming from Sam’s place.
Well, at least Sarah’s gumbo arrived on schedule. And now, Sam’ll have plenty of it to go around.
He arrives in the penthouse to find everyone there except Bruce, not too surprising since everyone likes to joke that Bruce will end up being late for his own funeral. As soon as he steps inside, Peter jumps up from the couch and practically leaps into Bucky’s arms, the reindeer antlers he’s wearing jingling merrily.
“Merry Christmas, Uncle Bucky!” he says as he releases Bucky. “You ready for the party?”
Oh hell no! Bucky thinks, but he plasters a smile on anyway.
“Sure am, kiddo,” he says. “Can’t wait.”
“Well, there you are,” Sam says as Bucky settles in on the couch next to Peter. “We were starting to wonder if you were even gonna show up.”
“Yeah, well, I'm here,” Bucky says. “So I guess you can quit wonderin’ now.”
Sam’s eyebrows shoot up, his smile faltering a little. “Well, okay then.”
Folding his hands, Bucky tries to concentrate on Peter and Clint’s debate on Oliver Queen vs Katniss Everdeen while they all wait for Bruce to show up. He finally does about ten minutes later, toting his usual coffee-topped stack of books and papers and apologising profusely for being late. He plops down onto the couch, with Steve catching his coffee cup just before it would’ve toppled off the stack and all over his lap.
“Thanks, Cap—I mean, Director,” Bruce mumbles as he settles in. “Okay, so, who’s ready to get started?”
“Hell, yes!” Peter exclaims. “We’re all ready!”
“Yeah, so I say we get started before the kid combusts,” Tony says as he stands to his feet, moving to stand in front of Bruce. “And on that note, Dr Banner, I’m the one who had the privilege of drawing your name.”
“You did?” Bruce exclaims. “Oh wow, Tony, I should've known! That coffee blend you sent me was like, three times stronger than my usual stuff, and—”
“Well, that’s no shocker, huh?” Peter mutters to Bucky. “Now both of the science bros can be bouncing off the walls together at three in the morning.”
“Like they don't already?” Bucky whispers back.
“Yeah, okay,” Peter says with a laugh. “Good point.”
Once Bruce finally stops waxing poetic about Tony’s coffee gift, the rest of the team starts revealing their giftees. Bucky can’t help but notice the look of shock on Sam’s face as Peter tells everyone that he was Bucky’s Secret Santa, his heart sinking as Sam drags his gaze across to Natasha and Bruce, the only two people besides Bucky who haven’t yet revealed themselves.
He can’t even consider the fact that it might be me, Bucky thinks, wishing he could just sink into the couch. He barely listens as Natasha announces that she had Tony’s name and Bruce had Steve’s, both of whom spend the next few minutes oohing and aahing over their gifts.
And then, it’s finally Bucky's turn. He sucks in a deep breath, just about to open his mouth when Sam suddenly blurts out, “Bucky? All that… it was you?”
Bucky’s cheeks immediately flush hot, and he clears his throat, unable to meet Sam’s eyes.
“Ah, yeah,” he says to his knees. “Uhh, Merry Christmas.”
Dead silence meets Bucky’s proclamation, followed by Steve making a really big deal about rising from the couch.
“Well, I don't know about anyone else, but I’m ready for some food,” he says, way too clipped to be natural. “So what do you say we move this party into the kitchen?”
Bucky stays put as the rest of the team follows Steve into the kitchen, all chattering excitedly. As soon as Peter disappears around the corner, Bucky chances a glance up to find Sam standing right in front of him, holding out his hand.
“Will ya come here?” he asks, thick and throaty. Bucky gulps as he grasps Sam’s hand, warmth shooting up his arm and blooming across his chest as he stands to his feet.
“So… you feel like telling me why you’ve been avoiding me all day?” Sam asks.
“Ahh… I—I didn't—” Bucky whispers, rapidly shaking his head. “I didn't know if—?”
“If what?” Sam asks, just as softly. He takes another half-step closer, his fingers tightening their hold on Bucky’s hand. “What’s going on, Buck?”
“I didn't know if—if you—if you—” Bucky tries, groaning in frustration when the words just refuse to come out. A normal person might think that holding hands and standing right in each other’s spaces might be a clue that there’s some mutual attraction going on, but since Bucky is in no way normal, he still figures that he can’t be sure.
“I didn't know if you liked me,” Bucky finally blurts out. Then he squeezes his eyes closed, mentally preparing himself for Sam to back away in disgust.
Instead, to his absolute shock, Bucky feels Sam’s other hand cup his cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing softly across Bucky’s cheekbone.
“Buck,” Sam says. “Open your eyes.”
Slowly, Bucky blinks his eyes open to find himself staring directly into Sam’s, his face relaxed into the softest, most beautiful smile that Bucky’s ever seen.
“Hey,” Bucky whispers, his heart already galloping.
“Hey,” Sam whispers back. Then his eyes flick down to Bucky’s lips, his head tilting in silent question.
“Can I?” he asks, just in case Bucky didn't get the hint.
“Oh, hell yes!” Bucky rasps. His breath catches as Sam leans in, brushing his gorgeous full lips across Bucky’s in the sweetest kiss he could possibly imagine. Then Sam straightens, his eyebrows knitting together as he regards Bucky.
“So, you got anymore questions for me?” Sam asks.
Bucky’s head is swirling so fast from that one kiss that he can barely think. “Yeah,” he finally says. “Will—will you be my guy?”
Sam’s lips twitch into a rather sly smile. “Are you asking me to go steady? After only one kiss?”
“Um… yeah,” Bucky says, a wide smile breaking across his face. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
“Well, in that case, I accept,” Sam says, his expression turning slightly stern. “But only if you go see The Lion King with me. ‘Cause I don't care what anyone says, Clint and Nat can get pretty damn mushy when they think no one else is looking, and I know I can’t deal with that all by myself.”
Bucky laughs as he slides his arms around Sam’s waist, drawing him closer. “Deal,” he says. “Just as long as you let me kiss you again.”
Sam gives Bucky another smile, one he’s never seen him give anyone else. “Deal.”
Dipping his head, Bucky captures Sam’s lips again, gliding his left palm up Sam’s arm and shoulder to cup the back of his neck. The warmth that’s been simmering across his body suddenly bursts into a raging conflagration as Sam opens his mouth to him and their tongues touch, the overwhelming sensation almost causing Bucky to sway on his feet.
“Holy shit,” Bucky whispers when they finally break apart, Sam’s hands resting on Bucky’s biceps. “Sam, I—I—”
“Yeah,” Sam says, sounding just as wrecked as Bucky. Then he sucks in air, his eyes locking with Bucky’s as he grins.
“So, I sure hope you like gumbo,” he says wryly.
“Oh yeah?” Bucky asks, trying like hell to keep from mirroring Sam’s grin. “And why’s that?”
“Well, maybe because someone just gave me like an entire boatload of it,” Sam murmurs. “And there's no way in hell that I can eat it all.”
Bucky shifts on his feet, his arms tightening ever-so-slightly around Sam’s waist. “So, is this your way of asking me out for Christmas dinner?”
Sam throws his head back and laughs. “Well, yeah. I mean, you did just ask me to go steady, so I guess I just assumed that meant we could have dinner together.” He bobs his head back and forth, looking suddenly shy. “And maybe do a little more kissing. You know, if you feel like it.”
“Only a little?” Bucky asks, trying not to sound too desperate. He has half a mind to pick Sam up in his arms right now and carry him back down to his apartment, team Christmas party be damned. But since he wants to do this right, he resists the impulse and simply presses another kiss to Sam’s lips.
“Well, maybe more than little,” Sam says with a wink. Then he steps back, tugging gently on Bucky's hand as he jerks his head towards the kitchen. “You ready?”
Bucky breathes in, giving Sam a nod. The difference in his mood now from when he first arrived is so abrupt it’s like he has whiplash.
Then again, if this is what being in love is like, Bucky is all for it. Especially if he gets to experience it with Sam by his side.
“Yeah,” he says as he intertwines his fingers with Sam’s. “Let’s go.”