Work Text:
Pretty Damn Close to Perfect:
A Thunderbolts* Christmas One-Shot
Honestly, Bucky didn’t know why he’d agreed to it. Never in his life had he done a “Secret Santa”—then again, by the time “Secret Santa” had become a thing, he didn’t exactly have a group of people who would invite him to join in on the festivities. But things with the New Avengers were different. Very different.
It wasn’t often Bucky had more than one person in his corner—Steve, Sam—but now he had five reckless, emotional, dysfunctional idiots.
In other words, he had a family.
Oh, God. That’s what they were turning into, weren’t they?
Fuck.
How did this even happen? One moment, Bucky was just minding his business, doing normal congressman activities—you know, saving a group of witnesses from three armored military trucks on the back of a motorcycle—when the Thunderbolts crash-landed into his life. And then, Bucky was back in the so-called “hero” game. Sometimes he still struggled to call himself that.
It had only been a few months since they all moved into the watchtower and set up shop as the new superhero team this side of New York, though it felt like it had been longer. Oftentimes, Bucky struggled to let one person in; now he’d managed five and in such record time.
His former therapist would call that improvement, right? Yeah, definitely.
Having all of them felt good. Nerve-racking at times, sure, but good…yeah, good. So what this whole Christmas party thing was sending knots of anxiety to the pits of Bucky’s stomach? He’d grown to care for these people. Cherish them in his own way.
And most importantly, they were doing good: catching the bad guys, saving the city, and all that shit. Bucky didn’t regret leaving Congress for the New Avengers when they were out doing their job. It was moments like this, the social aspects of this whole team business, when he felt like he was tripping over his own two feet.
Did Steve ever feel like this when he came out of the ice? No, no way. Not America’s literal sweetheart. And Bucky bet Sam didn’t feel this way either. He was too damn perfect—because that was the problem that crept into those friendships, he was standing next to someone who was just so fucking comitant. The New Avengers weren’t like that; it was okay to be messy, it was all right to fuck up as long as you kept trying.
The real thing that was worrying Bucky was if he’d fuck up a little too much this time, and tarnish something good.
What if the Christmas present he got Walker was the dumbest, most embarrassing thing—no, he’ll like it. Yeah, he’ll like it. It wasn’t like Bucky somehow drew the only name he had a not-so-clean history with. It wasn’t like things were still just a bit awkward. No, of course not. Not at all. Not. At. All.
Bucky flopped back down onto his bed, running his vibranium hand over his face. This shouldn’t be this hard, he knew. He was a former fucking assassin for fucks sake! The Winter fucking Soldier! And yet, he was panicking.
A light knock rang from his door, and the sharp clink of metal reverberated through the room.
“Come in,” Bucky called out. He pulled himself up, trying his best to make it look like he wasn’t overthinking this entire situation.
Yelana, in a rather large pair of festive antlers, crept through the door, a small green wrapped present in her hand. “Nice sweater,” she scuffed, a smile playing on her lips.
“Nice antlers,” Bucky shot back.
“I figured I’d have to, you know, drag you downstairs for this thing. Bob and Alexei are making cookies.”
“Have they burned down the entire kitchen by now?”
She shrugged. “Almost.”
It had been four months since the void incident, and since then, Yelena had become the team leader. Well, as much of a leader as any team as complicated as them could have. And in that time, Bucky had become somewhat of a mentor to her. Out of all the New Avengers, Bucky had to admit he liked her the best—after Bob, of course, but Bucky still wasn’t sure he was a New Avenger or not. Was he a part of the family? Of course. Was he one of the Avengers? Well…
Yelena sat down next to Bucky. “Are you still freaking out about your present for Walker? I told you—”
“What if he thinks it’s dumb?”
“He likes dumb!”
“What if it’s too dumb!?”
Yelena groaned. “Bucky, what is this really about? Do you have a crush on him or something?”
“Walker? No! Fuck! I have standers, Yelena!”
“Then what is it? Because I know you do not have that high an opinion of the man.”
For a moment, he struggled to find the words; they were all jangled up in the cobwebs of too many thoughts and emotions. Eventually, he spat out, “I-I want this,” and gestured vaguely to the space around them, “to work. But Sam and I, we were real asses to him when he was in a bad place, I see that now. I’ve been trying to…mend things with him. We’re friends now. But it’s…it’s fragile. One wrong move—”
“Please. We’ve all been through a lot together, and if none of us have fucked it up too badly yet, then I think one shitty present won’t make it or break it. Look at me.” She managed to catch Bucky’s eye. “Everything will be okay.”
Bucky let out a breath. “Okay.”
“And if he hates it, he hates it. Not a big deal.”
“Here I thought I was the one who was supposed to help you.”
“It’s a give-and-take relationship.” Yelena shot up from the bed. “You ready, or are you going to spend another hour on your hair?”
Bucky followed her lead. “Hey, I like my hair!”
“I never said it looks bad, I just said you’ve spent hours on it. Every morning, slowing us down on missions. Oh, Yelena, does my hair look okay? Oh, my hair—”
“Fuck off, kid,” he chuckled.
And with the red gift-wrapped box in hand, he followed Yelena out the door as it slid shut behind them with a click.
****
Yelena knew what gift she was going to give Bob the moment she plucked his name from the Santa hat that Alexei got from god knows where. Journaling was a habit she’d gotten into herself over the last few months, and found that it had helped her a great deal when sifting through the great big pile of shit in her head. Over and over again, she assured herself that she knew Bob and she knew he would like the gift. But Bucky’s worries reminded her far too much of her own. Still, if her friend could overcome his worries and make his way to the Christmas party, then she could too.
Alexei and Bob had pushed the rest of the New Avengers out of the common space—a kitchen and a living room with a long dining table between the two—the very second breakfast was over, and the two men had made each and every one of them pinky promise not to come back until 6pm that night when the party started. The group’s only instructions were to bring their Secret Santa gifts and to dress festively. Yelena didn’t think she’d dressed festive in her life—outside of those few years in Ohio, that is. Regardless, she donned a reindeer headband and brought her gift, and also Bucky.
When she and Bucky strode through the elevator doors, Yelena found a wide grin stretched across her face (when had that gotten there?). The entire floor was covered in warm string lights and colorful paper decorations. In the very corner of the living room was a large tree—taller than Alexei by a mile at least—with four wrapped gifts of varying levels of prestige laid underneath the pine.
“Happy Christmas!” Alexei called out an apron which read ‘I like ‘em thick and sprucy’ across his large belly.
“Merry Christmas, Dad,” Yelena said, wrapping her father in a brief one-armed hug.
Ava and Walker were already there, each perched in their places on the couch with eggnog in hand.
“What are we watching?” Bucky asked, wandering over to them.
“Home Alone,” Walker told him, “she’s never seen it.”
Ava whacked Walker on the arm. “I grew up in a lab!” she defended.
“That’s no excuse, you’ve been out for years—this is a cinematic masterpiece.” Once again, he gestured to the screen.
“Bucky, please help me out here,” Ava groaned.
The super soldier shrugged. “No, Walker’s right. It’s a masterpiece.”
“See?” Walker exclaimed. “Thank you, Buck.”
With a curt smile, Bucky threw his gift underneath the large Christmas tree and took his normal place in the armchair, which he and Alexei—and he and Alexei only—rotated in. Everyone had their normal spots on the couch, and more often than not, those spots included completely lying on top of each other, a million limbs falling in a million different semi-comfortable places.
Yelena leaned on the countertop, plucking a gumdrop from a bowl and tossing it in her mouth. “Anything I can do to help?”
Bob whipped his flour-covered hands with a towel. “Uh, set the table for us?”
And so, she did just that.
****
This was the holiday Bob had dreamed of as a child: a tree stuffed full of presents, a meal big enough to feed an army (or three Super Soldiers, plus the rest of them), and a room full of people who loved each other. He swore he could feel the glow of the warmth in his chest all the way down to his toes.
Bob would not let this magical Christmas be anything less than perfect, just like he’d been imagining for years.
Sure, the medium bowl of borscht at the table wasn’t in the original picture, and neither were the super soldiers or assassins, but Bob wouldn’t trade this moment for anything, not in a million years.
At the dinner table, conversation sprang easily and carried on until the tray of ham was empty, the rolls were reduced to crumbs, the corn was nothing but a distant memory, and the bowl of mashed potatoes was licked clean. In the background, holiday music played over the speakerhead, and the smell of sugar cookies was nearly sickening. The sweater Bob wore was so large, it ballooned over his fingertips, nearly swallowing him whole, but with New York winters being New York winters, no one could blame him.
Once the conversation became more polite than easy, Alexei slammed down his fist on the table and exclaimed, “Now is time for the PRESENTS!!!”
From across the table, Bob saw Yelena shoot Bucky a crossed look. Bob made a mental note to ask about that later.
With the Red Guardian leading the way, the group slowly made their way into the living room. In the chaos of trampling over each other, hastily shoving gifts in one another’s hands, Yelena managed to find Bob, as she always seemed to do.
She handed the man a neatly wrapped green box with a red bow on it. “Merry Christmas, Bob,” she told him, a nervous smile (a smile which anyone other than Bob might read as normal) playing on her lips.
“Merry Christmas, Yelena—oh, I should probably, uh, give Bucky his—I’ll be right—”
“Actually, if you could, erm, open it right now for me. I just, hm, would…I need to know if you like it.”
“Oh, yeah, right, of course. I’ll just, ah, yeah.”
Bob hated opening gifts in front of others; he was never sure if his surprised face was good enough or if the person would be angry because of his reaction. But he swallowed the knots in his stomach—that’s how the expression goes, right?—and pulled the red ribbon apart, carefully undoing the green wrapping.
Inside, there lay a leather-bound, hardcover notebook.
“I, uh, picked up journaling a few months ago,” Yelena explained. “I don’t know if your therapist has said anything about journaling, but mine had me try it, and it, eh, it helps. A lot. Organizing your thoughts, getting them out, and on paper. There’s, uh, something inside it too.”
With a blush hot on his cheeks, Bob cleared his throat—once again battling that pesky knot—and flipped open to the first page of the notebook: a photo strip of him and the rest of the New Avengers at the mall a few weeks ago was inside, all of them squished into one of those tinny photo boots without any room to breathe. Alexei had insisted on it.
“You know, so you can mark your page,” Yelena explained, anxiously rubbing her neck.
Bob’s heart swelled and grew heavy in his chest. He clutched the notebook as tight as his non-Sentry hands would let him. “I-I don’t know what to say.”
“That’s alright, you don’t have to say—”
Bob pulled Yelena into a bone-crushing hug. He felt her stiffen and then, a moment later, melt into his arms. They fit perfectly together, but this information was not new. “Thank you,” he whispered against Yelena’s hair.
She threw her arms around his back. “You’re welcome, Bob.”
With his heart heavy, Bob pulled back and glanced around the room. “I need to give Bucky his gift now, but, er, thank you. Really. This is the best gift I’ve ever gotten.”
Yelena scuffed. “It’s not that big of a deal.”
“It is to me. Hang on just one second, eh—Buck! Bucky!” Leaving Yelena in the dust, Bob stumbled over to the other side of the living room, dashing between all the others, to the corner where Bucky lurked.
“Hey, kid.”
“Hi, I, er, made you something. Here.” From his pocket, Bob produced a small, palm-sized white crochet cat with a little string and paper tag around its neck, which read, from bob. “I-I-I know it’s not very good”—that seemed like the understatement of the year: one of the cat’s black button eyes was half falling off its face, a thousand uneven stitches bound together by sheer force of will, and the lack of stuffing in the head and torso made it lopsided and unable to stand on its own, but Bob produced it proudly, and when Bucky took it from his outstreached hands he held it like it was made of glass—“but I only just started learning, so I’ll get better soon. Hopefully. When I do, I can make you a better one.”
Bucky clutched the crochet animal in his vibranium hand, his eyes turning pink and watery. “It’s perfect, kid.” He cleared his throat. “Thank you. I-I love it.”
“Really?” Bob beamed.
Bucky nodded. “Really.” He clapped Bob on the shoulder. “‘Suppose I should man up right about now, huh?”
“I don’t know what we’re talking about.”
Bucky sighed, “Thank you, Bob.” He plopped the crochet animal into his pocket. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, Mr. Soldier.”
“Only Alexei is allowed to call me that, and that’s just ‘cause I can’t stop him.”
A curt nod from Bob. “Right, sorry, Bucky.”
As the Winter Soldier walked away, Bob made his way back to Yelena
“Where were we?” he asked when he got there.
That made Yelena laugh. “Right where we’re supposed to be, Bob.”
****
Walker already had the red box in hand by the time Bucky made it over to him, and by that point, it was too late to stop him because he had half of the paper torn off. “Hope you like it,” Bucky told him, perched on the arm of the couch.
“This from you?”
Bucky managed to nod.
A moment later, John pulled the gift out of the box.
“Did you custom-make a New Avengers football jersey?!”
Bucky scratched his neck awkwardly. He felt the fluffy weight of Bob’s gift in his pocket, light and comforting. It would be alright. It would be. “There’s a really nice lady on Etsy who does it,” he explained. “It’s dumb, I know—”
“Dude, this is awesome.” Walker threw the jersey over his head—on top of a red Rudolph sweatshirt—and grinned proudly.
Bucky paused. “It is?”
“Hell yeah.”
“You don’t think it’s stupid.”
“Why would I? God, this is so cool. Thank you, man, really.”
Walker gripped Bucky’s hand in a firm handshake. “Yeah, yeah, of course,” he spattered.
“Ava’s opening her gift right now.”
Bucky looked over his shoulder, watching as Ghost opened a paper bag, pulling out the gift that lay inside.
“You got her a fucking candle?” Bucky asked, quivering an eyebrow.
“I panicked.”
“You should’ve just gotten her a knife.”
Walker groaned. “Where were you a week ago?”
Bucky chuckled.
They watched as Ava held the candle in her hand, eyes furrowed. Walker winced as he turned around, forcing himself to stop looking at her.
“Have you called him yet?” Walker asked, clearly attempting to change the subject.
“Called who?”
“Sam,” Walker carried on talking as Bucky rolled his eyes. “Come on, Buck. It’s Christmas.”
“You know we’re not on great terms.”
On the other side of the warm room, Alexei and Bob squabbled over the aux cord, making Yelena and Ava share a laugh. Bucky tried to focus on this rather than Sam.
Bucky still couldn’t believe how badly he was fucking that friendship up.
“You never did tell me what you’re fighting about,” Walker pointed out, awkwardly fidgeting.
“Everything really. He hates that I’m working for Val. He hates that we’ve taken the Avenger’s name. He hates me being back in the line of fire. Hates that I’m working with you, that we’re friends. Hates Bob—”
“He hates Bob?”
“He thinks he needs to be locked up. Yeah, it’s fucked, I know. There’s a handful of other small things here and there. We’re just looking for another thing to fight about at this point. It…it wouldn’t be a good idea to talk to him.” Bucky felt the acid in the back of his throat.
“How ‘bout a text?” Walker nudged the soldier. “Come on, it won’t kill ya.”
Bucky hated how right his teammates were at times. With a groan, he did end up pulling out his phone, typing one simple message. “I hate you,” he said, his thumb lingering on the second button.
“You’ve said.”
He managed to click the little arrow. “There. It’s done.”
While Bucky was still staring at his phone, Walker exclaimed, “Oh, shit, I gotta go.”
“Why?”
The man was already standing by the time Bucky’s eyes found the reason. “Ava—” Walker greeted in the most uncomfortable way anyone good.
Bucky didn’t even try to hide his amusement.
“Hey, Walker,” Ava said, that lilac candle clutched in her hand.
“Bye, Ava.”
Walker practically ran across the room, finding his way next to Yelena. That was fine, Bucky knew she would give him just as hard a time as he was.
The former soldier’s eyes flickered back to his phone: still no response.
“Trouble in paradise?” Bucky mused.
“He got me a fucking candle.”
Ava flopped down onto the couch next to Bucky.
“He means well.”
“I know. Just don’t tell him I like candles. Lilac is actually my favorite.”
Bucky’s phone weighed a ton as he checked it again, just to be safe.
“You could still run off, you know,” Ava said, reading over his shoulder. “We’ve all considered it at one point or another, I think.”
Bucky blinked, his phone limp in his hand. “When did you—”
“Our first day in the watchtower, when I was moving in all three boxes of my stuff. Just try it for one day, I told myself, then you can disappear again. That was, eh, the last time I considered leaving all of you.”
Bucky managed a smile. “Thank you for your sacrifice.”
“It’s my pleasure.”
Bucky’s phone chimed. He glanced at the screen:
You:
Merry Christmas
Sam Wilson:
Merry Christmas, Buck
Ava chuckled behind him. “You should call him.”
“No,” Yelena chimed in, popping up from nowhere, “FaceTime. Say hi to the nephews.”
“Yeah, yeah. Okay.” Bucky stood up, pacing in small steps. He reduced to FaceTime, some days he could barely remember how to make a normal phone call. “I’ll be back in an hour.”
“Make it two,” Ava insisted.
In the end, though, he’d be gone for three, and this time they’d hardly fight.
****
When Ava gave Alexei the box of Wheaties, she didn’t expect him to practically jump up and down with joy, but he did smile the widest smile ever seen of a Russian man. “We made it to Wheaties box!” he exclaimed. And Ava tried to stifle her laugh.
“Happy holidays, Alexei.”
“Happy holidays, Ghost lady.”
It surprised Ava how fond she’d grown of the man. Sure, he was over the top and very loud, but he’d forced his way into her heart, and somehow Ava still wasn’t complaining. All of them had, in their own way. Sometimes, the thought was still mind-boggling.
“Oh, I have one more for you,” she told the man.
Ava took out the little black box she had hidden behind her back. Alexei tore off the wrapping paper, and when he did so, he let out a long drawn gasp.
“Is this…my Yelena?” he asked.
Ava chuckled. “Mattel is rolling out a new line of action figures in six months. Val made a deal. I managed to get my hands on a prototype.”
The action figure looked tiny in the man’s large hands, but he cradled it with the utmost gentleness and care.
“You are very sweet woman,” he told her, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder.
“I really wish that sounded less creepy, but thank you, Alexei.”
The Red Guardian leaned in closer. “I tell you secret, eh? I gave Lena her present this morning. Just couldn’t wait, you know? I got it at the hot topical, you see. A little cat stuffed animal, just like one I got her when she was wee little girl. Her face lit up like a thousand little Christmas light.”
“That’s a lovely story, Lexi.” Ava could almost picture the interaction in her head, Alexei pulling Yelena off to the side after their training that day, presenting her with the stuffed animal. The thought warmed Ava’s heart. She cleared her throat, the gut instinct to shake off the feeling kicking in. “Come on, I think Bob and Walker are trying to pick out another movie.”
Alexei huffed. “Let’s go before Lena stabs one of them.”
****
“Oh, shit!” Walker exclaimed from his side of the couch, staring at his vibrating phone. Once Bucky was away on the phone with Sam and the chaos of the Secret Santa presents was over and done with, the group had kicked back and settled on the couch with Elf playing brightly on the tv.
“What is it?” Yelena shouted back, rushing to her feet. Walker could see her fingers tingle at her hips, where he knew at least one hidden knife was kept.
“Olivia’s calling.”
“That’s it,” Yelena sighed, flopping back to her seat. “Answer it.”
“I-I don’t know.”
The phone continued to buzz, his wife’s smiling picture (taken on a beach vacation years ago) mocking him, incapacitated behind the glass screen.
“Walker,” Ava said, “answer it.”
The man huffed, still holding his buzzing phone, staring at it blankly.
“Do it!” Alexei shouted.
“Okay, okay, I’m doing it, Jesus." He did not pick it up, not yet at least. Instead, he sprang to his feet, following in Bucky’s footsteps as he attempted to leave the room.
“And tell the kid hi from Aunt Ava,” Ghost called out with a chuckle.
“Ooh, and Aunty Yelena—I’ve always wanted to be an aunt.”
“And Uncle Bob!”
“Also, Alexei.”
“And Uncle Bucky,” Yelena added. “What? He’d want to be included if not for his lovers’ quarrel with the bird man.”
“He’d kill you for saying that,” Walker pointed out, still his phone buzzed.
Yelena shrugged. “Good thing he’s not here.”
The longer he stood by the elevator, the easier it seemed to lose his nerve. It was FaceTime too—he’d need to take off the jersey before answering, shit, he was running out of time. What if he waited too long and she never bothered to call back?
“I can do this,” Walker declared, gripping his eyes shut. “I can do this.”
He hated how much time he was wasting.
“Yes, you can! Now pick it up before it goes to voicemail,” Yelena yelled.
“Yeah, right.”
Walker took a deep breath. He swiped the little green phone and was greeted with the smiling face of his toddler, and when Olivia greeted him hello, and made small talk politely, Walker forgot all about the jersey on his shoulders, and he stepped into the elevator.
Olivia had been kind enough to extend an olive branch, not any kind of sign they would be one big happy family eminently, but a notion that all the work Walker had been putting into, quite frankly, not being an asshole was working out. At least a little.
In the end, Walker’s phone call only lasted ten minutes—mostly talking about their in-laws and what they’d gotten the kid for the holidays. Still, Walker got the chance to wish his son a very merry Christmas, and watch as he presented all the toys he had gotten to his dad. Walker wished the call could have lasted half as long as Bucky’s, but he was learning to take what he got.
Reluctantly, with a drop of hidden fondness, Walker was back on the couch, watching Elf with Ava’s legs swung over his knees and Bob’s head resting on his shoulder by the time Buddy left for New York. While half of him ached to be back with his family, the other half was swelling with joy because Walker had a new family right here.
Never before had both halves of Walker’s heart felt so full.
****
“Did you ever think we’d end up here?” Sam asked from his end of the call. Bucky did not end up FaceTiming him; a normal phone call was nerve-wracking enough.
“Depends on what you mean by here. On the phone with you? Yeah, it’s not that uncommon.”
“Cut the snark, Barns,” Sam chuckled, but something about it felt forced. “You know what I mean.”
Bucky let the weight of the conversation settle in the pit of his stomach. They’d been chatting for hours. Why did Sam have to press into uncomfortable territory?
“No, I didn’t,” he muttered.
Not once had he expected the New Avengers, the sudden rift between him and Sam, the loss of Steve, or the fights. The arguments. Not once had it been thought that he’d have an easier time celebrating Christmas with Walker over Sam.
He heard Sam hum from the other side of the line, clearly thinking. In the distance, the sounds of his nephews playing broke the somberness between them, his sisters heckling not too far away. “Night, Buck,” Sam said.
Bucky hated the bitterness in his voice. “Yeah, uh, goodnight, Sam.”
The line went dead.
“Fuck,” he whispered, the words slipping from his lips.
As he turned over, shifting into the permanent slump in his bed, he felt the crochet cat from Bob stick out from his pocket. Bucky retrieved it, looking at the crafted thing fondly. The creature was far from well-crafted or exquisite, but to the super soldier, it was perfect. It showed him someone cared about him enough to not only get him a gift, but also take the time to sit down and make one from scratch.
For a moment, it felt like his issues with Sam mattered just a bit less because Bucky had others, many others now, to fall back on. Bucky was not alone, far from it.
He set the cat down on his nightstand with care, placing it next to a paperback Mel had recommended, making sure to flip out the tag to display Bob’s name proudly so as not to forget the kind soul who’d made it.
Though it was getting late—the wintertime sun had set long ago—Bucky came back to the living room. Maybe just to say goodnight, maybe to just see with his own eyes how not alone he was. But by the time he got there, he found his team (his family, a small part of his brain corrected) dog piled on the couch, the end credits of Elf aimlessly passing them by, the music completely drowned out by their collective snoring.
A smile found the gruff man.
Bucky let the tv automatically switch on the Grinch, and he threw a blanket over each one of them and turned out the lights.
Though he knew it may hurt his back, he took his rightful place in his armchair (thank god Alexi opted to sit next to his daughter for the movie) and let his eyes flutter shut.
Nothing but the New Avengers collective snoring and holiday movie could be heard as flakes of new snow tumbled from the night sky, and the lingering smell of cookies still hung in the air despite them being turned to crumbs by now.
They were messy, very much so. And perhaps they were too loud or too awkward at times. Maybe they were all just a group of rather strange people who cared more than anything and tried harder than anyone.
The New Avengers were not perfect, and they never would be—the holidays, too, were not perfect and they also never would be—but in the stillness and the calm of the living room, it felt pretty damn close to just that.
THE END