Chapter Text
It was barely seven fifteen in the morning when Bucky woke up with an uncomfortably full bladder. Without wasting any time, he slipped out of bed and hurried to the bathroom for his first trip of the day. As his pregnancy progressed, these visits had become more and more frequent—bordering on exhausting, downright irritating. At one point, he had even considered wearing diapers, just to avoid getting up every thirty minutes. His only consolation was counting down the days and weeks until delivery. Just six more weeks, and it would all be over.
Once he was done, he washed his hands and paused in front of the mirror, taking in the sight of himself and deciding he looked like an absolute wreck. Yawning, he fixed his hair and washed his face, going through the familiar steps of his skincare routine until he felt satisfied with the result. Smiling faintly, he left the bathroom and headed back toward the bed—only to realize that Steve, his husband, wasn’t there.
He frowned, puzzled. The night before, they had agreed to stay in bed all morning, doing absolutely nothing—just cuddling and watching a Christmas movie together.
Pulling on a silk robe, Bucky stepped out into the hallway and made his way toward the kids’ bedrooms. He knew there was no way they’d be awake this early, not now that they were on winter break, but he wanted to make sure everything was alright before going to look for Steve. And, well… he also wanted to see them. Bucky was nothing if not a mother hen, always eager to be close to his little chicks.
Careful not to make any noise, he opened the door to Dylan’s bedroom first. His twelve-year-old son was still sleeping peacefully, a book lying open beside the bed, suggesting he’d likely stayed up late reading. Bucky smiled at the sight. His pup reminded him so much of himself at that age, and it filled him with warmth to know Dylan had inherited his love for literature.
Next, he stepped into Alessia’s room. His nine-year-old daughter was sleeping uncovered despite the awful December cold, curled around one of her favorite plush toys—a penguin named Winter. Bucky moved closer and tucked her in with a couple of Disney princess blankets, pressing a kiss to her forehead before quietly leaving the room.
He descended the stairs slowly, heading toward the kitchen.
Steve was there—sitting on one of the island stools, sipping coffee while browsing on his laptop. His shoulders were tense, and stress and anger clung to his presence. Bucky wrinkled his nose at the unpleasant scent. For a moment, he thought it might be best to turn around and go back to bed, but his instincts told him otherwise.
His alpha needed him.
“Stevie?” Bucky called softly, covering his nose with one hand.
Steve lifted his gaze toward his omega, immediately picking up on his concern. He sighed. Bucky must have woken up because of the call with Fury and the sharp exchange that followed. He should have been more careful with his tone. If there was one thing his husband hated, it was waking up this early—especially now, when exhaustion followed him constantly thanks to the pregnancy.
“Did I wake you?” Steve asked.
“No, it was my bladder. Again,” Bucky huffed, rolling his eyes. “But I got worried when you weren’t in bed. Everything okay, sweetheart?”
He stepped closer, fingers gently combing through Steve’s hair.
Steve shook his head in silence. There was something important he needed to talk to him about, and it couldn’t wait any longer.
“Buck, we need to talk.”
Bucky felt his blood run cold, his heart pounding wildly at the words. Nothing good ever came from your partner saying they needed to talk—especially not during the holidays, and not at thirty-four weeks pregnant. Had their bond reached its end? Their marriage? Had Steve met someone else? Or—
“Love, this has nothing to do with you.”
Steve had already noticed the spike of nerves in his omega’s scent. He stood up at once, cupping Bucky’s cheek with care and pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead in an attempt to calm him. What he was about to say wouldn’t be easy—but at least it had a solution.
“Don’t think like that,” he whispered. “Not today. Not ever.”
Bucky let out a shaky breath of relief and threw himself into his alpha’s arms. Steve was the only person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. He’d been in love with him since he was twenty-three, and despite all the years they’d shared, that love remained untouched—unchangeable. He was certain it always would be.
Steve returned the embrace, burying his nose in his omega’s long hair, savoring the familiar scent of apple and jasmine. Bucky was the omega he had chosen to bond with, to build a beautiful family alongside—and he had never regretted that choice. Not for a second. Especially not now, with a third baby on the way.
“What do you want to talk about, Steve?” Bucky asked as he pulled away from the blond.
Steve lowered his gaze, taking his omega’s hands and threading their fingers together.
“I have to travel to Washington, D.C. Today.”
Bucky’s eyes widened, stunned, wanting to believe he had misheard him—or that this was some kind of cruel joke. It was Christmas Eve. There was no way his husband had to leave that very day.
“What?” was all he managed to say.
“It’ll only be for one day. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
Bucky pulled his hands free and crossed his arms, indignant, anger flashing through him. They were supposed to spend Christmas Eve together with the kids, doing all the little things they’d planned. They were supposed to be in bed by now, curled up together, shielding themselves from the cold while watching a silly movie before baking Christmas cookies and wrapping presents in bright, festive paper.
Now none of that was going to happen—because once again, the world needed Captain America.
“You do know what day tomorrow is, right?” Bucky asked.
“Of course I do, but something serious happened at S.H.I.E.L.D., and they need my help—”
Bucky raised a hand, cutting him off.
“Natasha does the same job you do, and she doesn’t have a family waiting for her. Let her handle it.”
It might have sounded harsh, but unlike Steve, Natasha didn’t have a family to spend the holidays with. She didn’t have two kids. She didn’t have a husband who was seven months pregnant. In fact, the famous Black Widow had mentioned she didn’t have any plans for Christmas and would most likely head to Clint’s farm to spend a few days with the Barton family.
“No, Buck, don’t talk like that,” Steve said, stepping closer to take his hand. “That’s not who you are.”
It only took that gentle reprimand for Bucky to realize how awful his words about Natasha had sounded. She wasn’t at fault at all. He sighed. Maybe it was the hormones again, making his moods swing without warning.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “But it’s not fair, Stevie,” he added, his voice breaking. “Why does this have to happen to us right on Christmas?”
“Baby, I swear I did everything I could to get Fury to postpone the meeting,” Steve said softly. “But I couldn’t.”
“Why can’t they just do a video conference and be done with it?”
Steve sighed and gave his husband a small, apologetic smile.
“I wish it were that easy,” he replied. “Nick says it’s a private matter.”
Bucky rolled his eyes, fed up with the same excuse over and over again.
“What about the flight?”
“I have to be at the airport by noon. I’ll go to S.H.I.E.L.D., and after the meeting I’ll spend the night at a hotel. Tomorrow morning I’ll take the first flight back to Indianapolis,” Steve explained. “Everything will be fine, sweetheart,” he added, gently caressing his husband’s cheek.
“Do you promise?”
“Of course I do, my love.”
With that, Steve leaned in to kiss Bucky—like a seal on his promise, something they had done ever since the beginning of their relationship. The omega wrapped his arms around his alpha’s shoulders, while Steve held him by the waist with a subtle hint of possessiveness.
“I love you, Bucky, and I’m not going to leave you alone this Christmas,” Steve whispered, tucking a long strand of his omega’s hair behind his ear. “I won’t leave our pups alone either—nor the one on the way.”
Steve rested one hand on Bucky’s belly, feeling the baby move like an expert swimmer, and let out a soft laugh.
“I can’t wait to meet this baby,” the blond said, his voice full of excitement.
“Enjoy this pregnancy, Stevie,” Bucky replied lightly, “because it’ll be the last one.”
Steve nodded in silence, then crouched down to press a kiss to his partner’s belly—something he did every morning, always accompanied by a few loving words for the baby. According to some articles he’d read online, babies could already hear their parents from inside the womb, so Steve liked to talk to them, telling them how much they were already loved and awaited at home.
This new pregnancy hadn’t been part of their plans. Years ago, they had both agreed that after Alessia, they wouldn’t have any more children. But life had a way of surprising you when you least expected it—and of proving that no birth control method was ever one hundred percent effective. Not even the implant Bucky had been using.
Because of that, Bucky had decided to have his tubes tied during the C-section. It was a necessary procedure. At thirty-nine, another pregnancy after this one could put both his health and the baby’s at risk—something he wasn’t willing to face.
Steve stood up and pressed another kiss to his husband’s forehead. At one point in his life, he had dreamed of having many children with his omega—maybe six. Money had never been an issue, nor space. The real problem was time. And exhaustion. When Dylan was born, Steve had learned that parenthood was far harder than he’d ever imagined. It hurt him deeply to see Bucky worn down most of the time, holding a crying baby who never seemed to settle.
Three years later came Alessia, the princess of the house. With her, Steve and Bucky realized that even with experience—even knowing how to change diapers—everything was still just as difficult and just as draining. While Steve made sure Dylan didn’t get into trouble that could put his life at risk, Bucky focused on nursing the newborn or soothing her cries, which often left him with terrible migraines.
Now they both knew that once the third baby arrived, things would be the same—or worse. With Dylan and Alessia approaching adolescence and puberty, it was obvious that plenty of challenges awaited them in the years ahead. Still, they chose to remain hopeful, trusting that with patience and love, they could overcome anything.
“What are you going to tell the kids?” Bucky asked.
“I’ll explain that I have to leave on short notice,” Steve replied. “And I’ll talk to Dylan, make sure he helps you with whatever you need.”
“Alessia won’t be happy,” Bucky said quietly. “She doesn’t like it when you leave—especially now that your trips are getting more frequent.”
“I know,” Steve huffed. “I hate this too. But the world needs Captain America…”
Bucky sighed, knowing he couldn’t stay angry at his alpha for long.
“I’m going to miss you.”
“I’m not gone yet. You still have me,” Steve said with a mischievous smile, once again grabbing Bucky by the waist with possessive intent.
Bucky gasped softly in surprise, hands instinctively pressing against his alpha’s chest.
“Steve…”
“The kids are still asleep.”
“They could wake up at any moment,” Bucky warned, breathless. “And it’ll be harder for us to part if you knot me.”
Steve rolled his eyes, smiling as he nodded.
“Alright, you win,” he conceded. “Besides, I still need to pack.”
With that said, the blond carefully lifted his husband into his arms, determined to spare him the effort of climbing the stairs and overexerting himself. Once upstairs, he gently settled Bucky onto the bed before heading to the walk-in closet to grab a suitcase and begin packing everything he would need for the next twenty-four hours he’d be spending away from home.
Bucky curled up among the pillows, one hand resting over his belly as he watched his husband move around the room. Every so often, he reminded Steve of the essentials he needed to pack—his toothbrush, underwear, chargers, headphones, and a book to read during the flight.
As much as he wanted to be understanding, Bucky couldn’t shake the bad feeling settling in his chest. A tight, persistent ache that refused to leave him alone. He didn’t want his husband to think he was being negative or pessimistic, but he couldn’t ignore the sense that sooner or later, something was bound to go wrong. He huffed irritably and rubbed his belly, feeling the baby give a gentle kick. He smiled, grateful for the distraction—even if it was only temporary.
Once Steve finished packing, he carried his luggage into the main living room, setting it down beside the couch. He then called Raymond, his driver, asking him to pick him up in forty minutes to take him to the airport. He apologized for making him work on Christmas Eve, promising to pay him double for the inconvenience.
Meanwhile, Bucky was left with the difficult task of waking the kids. Both Dylan and Alessia were stubborn and sluggish in the mornings, clinging to their blankets as if their lives depended on it. Bucky couldn’t blame them—the temperatures were dropping more and more, making it tempting to stay in bed all day.
Several minutes later, Dylan and Alessia finally dragged themselves out of bed amid groans and yawns. They went through their morning routines and made their way downstairs, hungry and asking for chocolate pancakes for breakfast. But the moment they spotted a travel suitcase in the living room, they exchanged confused looks before turning to Bucky, waiting for an explanation.
It seemed they already knew what was coming.
“Why is there a suitcase here, Dad?” Dylan asked, curiosity flickering in his voice.
A second later, the kids saw their father return to the living room, a backpack slung over his shoulder—the one he always used as his carry-on. That confirmed their suspicions. Their alpha dad was traveling again. On Christmas Eve.
Alessia crossed her arms, visibly upset, while Dylan grimaced and rolled his eyes in displeasure.
“Kids, your dad has to take a short trip,” Bucky said gently, trying to keep his tone soft enough to stop them from getting angry at Steve. “But he’ll be back tomorrow.”
“It’s Christmas Eve,” Alessia protested.
“We were supposed to make cookies together!” Dylan complained.
“And a gingerbread house!” his sister added. “And you were going to pick the best one!”
Steve ran a hand down his face, sadness and frustration settling in. He had known this would happen—that his kids wouldn’t take the news well—but he had no choice. He sighed, remembering the plans they’d made for the day. That afternoon, the four of them were supposed to bake and decorate cookies together; and like every year, Dylan and Alessia would compete to build the best gingerbread house. Now none of that would happen—or maybe it would, just without him.
“Babies, I’m sorry,” Steve said quietly. “I just… I have to take care of something urgent. I promise I’ll be back early tomorrow morning. I promise.”
Alessia lowered her gaze, disappointment written all over her face. Seconds later, a tear slipped down her cheek. She was closer to Steve than anyone else—a true daddy’s girl, the spoiled one of the family. But the trips and missions were becoming more frequent, and she couldn’t help thinking he was drifting away, that it wouldn’t be long before she and her brother were forgotten.
“Alessia, don’t cry…” Steve knelt in front of her, gently brushing his thumb over her cheek. “I’ll be back tomorrow. I promise.”
She wiped her tears and sniffed, unwilling to break down in front of everyone. She was a big girl now—she had to control her emotions, not show weakness all the time. Most of all, she had to understand that her dad was a superhero, with duties to the world—even on Christmas.
“You promise?” she asked.
“I promise.”
Steve pulled his little one into a hug and kissed her forehead, wishing he could offer her more comfort in the middle of this mess. When he let go, he turned to Dylan, who still looked disappointed and upset. Steve sighed and took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“I’m sorry, champ. Can you look after your papa Bucky and your sister while I’m gone?”
Dylan dropped his gaze and nodded silently. It wasn’t the first time he’d been left in charge when Steve had to travel, whether for missions or last-minute meetings. It wasn’t as if all the responsibility rested on his shoulders—after all, he was only twelve—but he always tried to make sure everything stayed in order.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” Steve said before kissing his son’s forehead.
Steve gathered both of his children into his arms, telling them how much he loved them and how proud he was of them. Still, none of it eased the guilt weighing on his chest, nor the thought that he was a terrible father. He closed his eyes as he kissed their foreheads once more, then stepped back, straightening up to grab the suitcase waiting beside the couch.
“Do you have to leave already?” Dylan asked, his voice still heavy with sadness.
“My flight’s in a couple of hours,” Steve replied gently. “And Mr. Raymond should be here any minute now.”
Bucky, who had been watching the farewell with tears in his eyes, stepped closer and laced his fingers with his husband’s. It had been a long time since a separation had hurt him this much, and no matter how short it was meant to be, it still ached. He was used to Steve’s sudden departures and returns—but this time was different. Christmas was just around the corner, and the bad feeling in his chest refused to fade.
Steve picked up his luggage and stepped out onto the porch, still holding his omega’s hand. He closed the door behind them, craving a moment of privacy with Bucky before leaving.
“Steve?”
“Yes, love?”
“I have a bad feeling,” Bucky sighed. “I’m sorry… I didn’t want to say anything and upset you, but I really feel like this won’t go well, and—”
“Bucky,” Steve interrupted firmly. “I’ll be back tomorrow sooner than you think. We’ll celebrate Christmas with our kids, and everything will be fine.”
Bucky took a deep breath, eyes closing as he tried to steady himself.
“I’m sorry… it’s probably just the pregnancy hormones. I’m very sensitive lately.”
“Don’t worry, love,” Steve said softly. “I promise we’ll have an amazing Christmas.”
Before Bucky could say anything else, Steve spotted Mr. Raymond’s car pulling up to the house. He cupped his husband’s face in his hands and leaned in to kiss him.
“See you tomorrow, love.”
Another tear slipped down Bucky’s cheek, immediately wiped away by Steve as he kissed his forehead, trying to soothe him.
“See you tomorrow…”
Steve pulled away, grabbed his luggage, and headed toward his driver’s car, glancing back one last time at Bucky before climbing in and setting off toward the airport. He couldn’t deny the crushing guilt of leaving him behind on a night as special as Christmas Eve—especially now, with two children and another baby on the way.
But there was nothing he could do. Duty was calling.
Bucky stayed on the porch a moment longer, crying quietly as he watched the car drive away until it disappeared from the neighborhood. He truly hoped his intuition was wrong—that Steve would be back home the next day, and they would celebrate Christmas together as a family.
He wiped his tears away and took a few slow, steady breaths before going back inside. In the kitchen, he found the kids waiting for breakfast, already arguing about who would win the gingerbread house contest. Alessia was convinced she would triumph with her innovative secret idea, while Dylan proudly claimed he had found the best recipe the internet had to offer. Bucky lingered in the doorway, watching them with a small smile as he rubbed his swollen belly, grateful to have the children to distract him for the rest of the day—to think a little less about the fact that Steve wasn’t there.
For the rest of Christmas Eve, Bucky focused on the kids, even though it wasn’t easy.
The sadness of having their dad gone on Christmas Eve didn’t last long. Soon enough, they were outside playing in the snow that had fallen in front of the house. Bucky kept a watchful eye on them the entire time, making sure they didn’t get hurt—or get the brilliant idea to eat snow.
When they finally got bored, they went back inside to keep playing, this time with their toys in the living room. Everything seemed fine then, and Bucky thought he might finally get a moment of rest. He went upstairs to his bedroom to take a nap.
Less than twenty minutes later, Alessia started yelling, furious.
“Let go of my doll, Dylan!”
Fuck.
Bucky woke with a groan, dragging both hands over his face as he silently begged for a moment of peace. Why couldn’t the kids take pity on him?
“Why don’t you cut her hair?” Dylan asked, laughing.
“NO!” Alessia screamed, panicked. “PAPA BUCKY!”
Bucky huffed and pushed himself out of bed, heading downstairs to find Dylan just about to cut the hair of one of his sister’s favorite dolls.
“Kids, enough,” he said—not an order, but a plea. “Dylan, let go of the doll.”
Dylan frowned, frustrated, and threw Alessia’s doll onto the floor. She shoved him in response—not hard enough to hurt him, but angry that her brother was always bothering her.
“Alessia,” Bucky warned, raising an eyebrow.
“But, Papa, he started it!”
“I know,” Bucky said gently but firmly, “but you shouldn’t push your brother. Both of you—apologize. Now.”
There was no room for protest.
Dylan frowned, crossing his arms, but when he noticed how tired Papa Bucky looked—and the way his hand rested over his belly—guilt settled in. He hadn’t meant to cause unnecessary trouble, or to make his sister cry.
“Fine. I’m sorry, Ale.”
Alessia’s expression softened, and she nodded quietly.
“I’m sorry, Dylan.”
Bucky smiled, proud of his pups, and leaned in to press a gentle kiss to each of their cheeks.
“Now please play nicely,” he said softly. “I want to sleep. Can you do that for me?”
The kids nodded with small smiles, watching their papa leave the living room and head back upstairs.
After lunch, it was time for the famous gingerbread house competition.
The kitchen was a complete disaster—flour here, sugar there. Despite wearing aprons, the kids had managed to get their clothes underneath just as dirty, dusted with dry ingredients and smeared with brightly colored icing. Bucky didn’t even want to think about how much cleaning and laundry awaited him later.
Still, the competition was tighter than it had been in years. Both kids presented charming gingerbread houses, and choosing a winner wouldn’t be easy.
Dylan, ever the perfectionist, had built a two-story house decorated with white icing and intricate details along the walls and roof. He’d even installed a tiny LED light inside, giving it a warm, realistic glow.
Alessia, creative and detail-oriented, had made a smaller house—but it stood out for its colorful charm: white and pink icing, sparkling sprinkles, and little sugar trees framing the entrance, creating a festive scene that looked like it had come straight out of a storybook.
The kids were nervous, treating it like a real, televised competition—the kind that decided your future. They stood beside their houses, hands clasped behind their backs, waiting for the final verdict. They exchanged respectful glances. This was their fourth year competing, and they knew how to behave. There wasn’t a trace of envy or resentment in their eyes.
They only wanted the best one to win.
Bucky called Steve so they could choose the winning gingerbread house together. He didn’t want distance to get in the way of giving the kids a memorable Christmas Eve—or of breaking their tradition.
As soon as Steve answered and his face appeared on the phone screen, Bucky showed him the kids’ gingerbread houses. Dylan and Alessia smiled nervously as they waved at their dad. The moment of the verdict had arrived.
“Kids, I’m so proud of you!” Steve exclaimed, clearly excited by the work his children had done. “Your gingerbread houses are beautiful.”
“Thank you, Papa!” the kids replied in unison.
“Now I’m going to talk with Papa Bucky so we can make a decision together.”
They nodded, glancing at each other with nervous excitement, eager to know who the winner would be.
Bucky stepped out of the kitchen with the phone in hand to speak privately with his husband and alpha, even though they both already knew the decision. They didn’t need to say it out loud—one look was enough to know who would win this year. Still, Bucky took the chance to talk to Steve alone.
“Everything okay, love?” Bucky asked, resting a hand over his belly.
“Yeah, baby. The meeting’s not over yet—we’re on a dinner break,” Steve sighed. “I’m exhausted, I won’t lie.”
Bucky nodded in understanding. His husband had had an incredibly busy day, and even though it was already six-thirty in the evening, he still hadn’t finished working.
“I’m sorry, love,” Bucky whispered.
“Don’t be… I’m hoping that after this I can finally take the break I need and be home with you.”
“Please, Steve. The kids fought earlier while I was trying to take a nap, and now this competition… I’m so tired. Being seven months pregnant and raising two kids on my own isn’t easy.”
“I know. That’s why I want to take a leave. I’ll talk to Fury later, okay?”
Bucky nodded, smiling softly.
“Thank you, Stevie.”
“I have to get back to the meeting in ten minutes. We should tell the kids who won.”
Bucky returned to the kitchen with his phone, finding the kids in complete silence, nerves shot, gripping their aprons and biting their nails. They couldn’t wait any longer.
“Kids, we’ve made a decision.”
Dylan and Alessia closed their eyes and held hands.
“The winner is…”
Bucky looked at Steve, and they shared a silent countdown.
“DYLAN AND ALESSIA!” they announced in unison.
The kids’ eyes flew open at the announcement—confused at first, then absolutely thrilled. They threw themselves into each other’s arms, screaming with excitement, as if they’d just won the World Cup or an award just as important.
Bucky and Steve smiled from ear to ear as they watched their children brimming with excitement, both letting out a soft chuckle as they prepared to announce the prizes.
“Kids, Papa Steve wants to tell you something!” Bucky said, raising his voice to get their attention.
The children pulled apart and turned their eyes back to the phone screen, suddenly attentive.
“This year’s prize will be a bicycle and a Lego set for each of you—whatever kind you want,” Steve announced.
Dylan and Alessia looked at each other in pure excitement, letting out a breath as wide smiles spread across their faces.
“Thank you, thank you!” Alessia exclaimed, hugging Papa Bucky tightly while blowing kisses toward the phone screen.
Dylan quickly followed, wrapping his arms around Papa Bucky as well. Once they pulled away, the kids left the kitchen to play in the living room, while Bucky stayed behind, phone still in hand, wanting a moment alone with his husband.
“I miss you, love,” Bucky admitted softly. “I know it’s only been a few hours… but the holidays and the hormones are getting to me.”
“Easy, baby,” Steve replied gently. “Tomorrow I’ll be back home with you.”
That uneasy feeling settled in Bucky’s chest again. He didn’t think his husband was lying—but until Steve was home, he wouldn’t feel at ease.
“I hope so.”
“Tell the kids not to open the presents until I get there, please.”
“Alright… though I don’t think they’ll like that idea very much.”
“I know. But I want to be there with them when it happens.”
Sam’s voice could be heard in the background, calling Steve back to the meeting room.
“I have to go, love. I love you.”
“I love you too. Good night.”
“Good night.”
The call ended, leaving a bitter taste in Bucky’s mouth. He sighed, stepping out of the kitchen and toward the living room, where his children were playing happily.
“Your dad asked me to tell you not to open the presents until he gets home.”
The kids groaned in unison, frowning in clear protest.
“I know… but it won’t be long, don’t worry,” Bucky added quickly. “Now help me clean the kitchen—I can’t handle that mess on my own.”
Dylan and Alessia climbed to their feet and followed Papa Bucky into the kitchen. Together, they cleaned up the disaster left behind from making the gingerbread cookies, finishing completely worn out and drained of energy. Somehow, chores always exhausted them more than any game ever could.
They took quick showers to wash away the colorful icing stains from their hair and skin, and after changing into their Christmas pajamas, they finally went to bed. Bucky made sure the bedroom windows were tightly shut to keep the winter cold from seeping inside, and after tucking his little pups in properly, he retreated to his own room.
Once in bed, exhaustion washed over Bucky completely. It had been a long day that seemed to have no end—the longest Christmas Eve of his life. He yawned, curling beneath the blankets before switching off the bedside lamp, his hand instinctively resting over his belly. Within minutes, he drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.