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The words were hushed, almost whispered. It took him drifting back to another Christmas, another time, not to his own home where the holidays tended to be just another excuse for a family argument, but when he’d stayed over at Steve’s. They were both supposed to be asleep, topped and tailed in the little bed, when Steve’s parents had come into the room with gifts for their stockings, whispering so as not to wake them.
It had won him a bet, that night, that they could stay awake long enough to see the truth for themselves. Steve had desperately wanted to prove that Santa existed while Bucky already knew he didn’t. Even as the door closed behind his parents, bringing the inky darkness back, deep down he had hoped, prayed, that somehow Steve was right after all. As realisation hit Steve had cried, sobbed, at the weight of childish disappointment, and Bucky had wriggled around in the bed to grab him in an awkward embrace. They were so young, so little. All their faith and hope shattered by an orange each, a pair of knitted socks and two penny candies.
“What are you going to do?”
“What do you think? Let him rest, feed him up. Help him with anything he needs.”
“Steve, this isn’t a stray cat, man. It’s the Winter Soldier, and he’s a mess, physically as well as mentally. Can you cope with this? With him? You got to think hard about this. What about Hydra? What about Fury?”
“I don’t care, Sam. None of that matters right now.”
“Steve…”
He may have still been thinking about that other Christmas, all that time ago, but this time Bucky had enough of feigning sleep. He moved his foot under the covers, making a scratching sound on the soft cotton.
“Buck?” Steve’s voice was still quiet but now it was soft as well, like warm maple syrup soaked pancakes on a winter’s day.
“I’ll be in the kitchen,” said Sam, clicking the bedroom door shut behind him as he left.
Bucky rubbed his face in the pillow and pulled the blankets up a little more.
“Did Santa leave me an orange?” he asked, his voice dry and cracked.
The bed dipped as Steve perched on the edge, and a gentle hand rested on Bucky’s shoulder.
“You hungry?”
Bucky groaned and mumbled into the pillow. “Told you before, Stevie, they didn’t feed me like that.”
“I know, Buck, I know. But I ain’t about ta put you back in cold storage. We got to get you eating. I have these drink things, that sportsmen use to bulk up. Wanna try?”
Bucky turned his head slightly and opened one eye, taking in the earnest expression of his best friend.
“I don’t know. Do I?”
“If I drink one, will you try too?”
Bucky huffed. No matter what year it was you could never call Steve Rogers a quitter. He might as well accept it, God knows the man was never going to give up.
“What flavour you got?”
******
“Hi honey, I’m home!”
Steve’s apartment looked as though a giant Christmas monster had seriously over eaten and vomited tinsel on every available surface. Every piece of art, every occasional table, every ornament, sparkled with glitter and bonhomie. Mistletoe hung in a huge bunch in the doorway as you came in and a huge fir tree stood by the vast window, adorned with all manner of decorations.
Tony gazed at the table, or rather, 3 tables joined together, where Natasha and Rhodey were engrossed in the process of laying out the cutlery and arguing about which napkins to use.
“Where do I put this?” he asked, gesturing at the large meat dish in his arms.
“Hey, Tony, sorry, in here,” said Bruce, peeking around the door before vanishing back into the kitchen again. “What did you bring?”
“Prime Rib,” replied Tony, carrying the oven ready dish into the kitchen and pushing a few items aside to find room to put it down.
“What? You actually only bought what Steve asked you to bring? Nothing else? Who are you and what have you done with Tony Stark?”
“Ha ha.”
Bruce folded his arms across his flour covered apron and leaned on the counter top, giving his friend an appraising look.
“Pepper told you to, didn’t she?”
“Yes, okay, yes. She caught me in the middle of hiring caterers.”
Bruce threw his arms out in despair. “Steve made it perfectly clear he wanted this to be a family Christmas, Tony. What family brings caterers in?”
“Well mine. Obviously. No, no, I get it, I do. It’s a really good rib of beef. It’ll take 6 hours, according to my Butcher, so you’d better get it in now. I’ll bring the wine down later.”
Bruce smiled, looking way too relaxed for a man about to help put such a huge dinner together.
“Okay, Tony, that’s awesome. Thank you.”
“You need any help?” asked Tony, looking around at the debris and chaos.
“Seriously? You cook?”
“No. But I have a cook. I could…”
“Your cook is having his own Christmas dinner with his family like the rest of your staff. Thank you, we’ll manage.”
“See you at 4.”
“See you.”
******
“It’s not… the water, as such. It’s…”
Steve had that look on his face again, the soft one, the one that meant there was nothing Bucky could ask for that he would say no to.
Struggling with the right words, Bucky made a gesture of water falling on his head and pulled a face to show his distaste.
“It’s the shower that’s the problem?” Steve shrugged his shoulders. “Piece a cake. I have a tub.”
Bucky still hesitated but Steve had his mission now – to get Bucky clean.
Steve bashed and crashed about in the bathroom, setting the water running at a suitable temperature and, from the smell floating through the door back to where Bucky sat up in bed, added at least 5 different scented bath oils.
“I’ll try to make it as different as I can,” called Steve over the sound of running water. “Do you want some music? No, that might be a bit much, I guess, we’ll just go for peace and quiet, right? I have a bathrobe, it’s clean, I promise. And these towels, well let’s just say I was against such extravagance, but you don’t get much of a choice when Tony Stark is involved…”
He’d been here two days. Two days since he’d given up hiding in a deserted Hydra safehouse, waiting for the recovery crew that never arrived. Two days before Christmas and he was so cold, hungry, disorientated, confused, and the only thing he could remember was Steve. The man on the bridge. Steve. Till the end of the line. And so he’d handed himself in at the security desk of Stark Tower then counted exactly long it had taken Captain America to make it down 37 floors.
Steve’s face, when he finally skidded to a halt in front of The Winter Soldier, held many emotions but none as strong as hope. In fact he was so full of optimism it almost hurt to look at him.
The Soldier had tried to look away but the sudden turn of his head had dazed his weakening body and he’d fallen to his knees, light-headed and utterly exhausted. He heard other people arriving, was pretty sure one was Stark’s boy, Iron Man, but he couldn’t lift his head to look and all he could focus on was Steve’s strong arm around his shoulders while a calm measured voice barked instructions to those around them.
He was going to be okay.
He’d found Steve.
******
“Steve? I got the cranberry sauce you asked for. I’d say it was a family recipe but it would be a lie, but I did get it from a great place I know.”
“Scott! Hey man, that’s great. Thank you.” Steve took the large bowl from Scott and carried it to the table. “Help yourself to a drink, if you want one?”
“Thanks, Cap.” Scott wandered over to the bar and gazed at what looked like a hundred different bottles. “Well as I am here to work I guess a beer can only help. You want me peeling spuds, right?”
“Yeah, if you don’t mind. There’s a ton to get through.”
“It’s looking, and smelling, great already,” smiled Scott. “How’s Bucky doing?”
Steve grabbed a cloth to wipe his hands. “He’s okay. He’s stressing about the turkey so I sent him out for a walk with Wanda.”
“Good call.” He started to roll his sleeves up. “Okay. Show me the money!”
******
The bath had been traumatic but, let’s face it, so had everything else that had happened since the last time The Winter Soldier had come out of cryofreeze. At least this time the suds were gentle and perfumed and nobody wanted to hold his face under the water to see how long he could go without oxygen.
Steve had even washed his hair for him, as gentle as the first bath his own Mother had ever given him but with far less maternal instinct.
There had been no intrusion, no expectation, no invasion of his privacy. Just his oldest, best friend, helping him to get back some dignity.
Within an hour he was back in bed, warm, clean, dry, wearing Steve’s sweatpants and hoodie. He buried his nose in the neck, inhaling, wondering if it was a cliché that you could smell a person on their clothes.
It wasn’t.
There was no sensible reason for the tears that slid down his cheeks, but they came anyway.
******
Bucky was back, thank goodness, because he’d warned Steve seven times not to touch the turkey until he returned and it needed to come out of the oven, right now.
The kitchen surfaces were groaning under the weight of all the various donated dishes, vegetables, mains, sauces, vegetarian options, condiments and desserts.
The apartment was filled with a warmth only equalled by the level of chaos, as Pepper took over hosting duties in the main lounge, encouraging people to take their seats around the mismatched tables as she handed round canapes. Tony had opened several bottles of wine and was looking very happy with his lot as he filled the glasses.
“Apple pie?” called Clint.
Steve appeared from the kitchen, his cheeks pink and flustered looking. “On the side, please, and wow! Thank you, Clint, that looks amazing.”
“No problem, man.”
“How did you get away from the family for lunch?”
“Me? Oh, I didn’t. I did the same as Sam. This is gonna be my second dinner today.”
“Two dinners?! Why did I not think of this?!” roared Thor as he clinked his glass with Loki.
“There’s plenty to go round,” called Steve, as he dashed back to the kitchen. “Plenty enough for seconds.”
“And thirds!” added Thor, laughing even as he took another drink of wine.
“Everyone out now apart from me and Steve,” Bruce’s voice rang out from the kitchen. “Nat! I need you!”
Natasha appeared promptly at the door. “Yes, Chef?”
Bruce rolled his eyes at her. “Funny. I need to you escort Bucky, here, to the table.”
“What?” said Bucky, his gaze flickering between Steve and Bruce as he tried to work out if they were being serious. There was a still a turkey to carve, after all.
“Buck.” Steve took a deep breath to compose himself. “This is your first proper Christmas in 70 years. You’ve been planning this for months. You’ve done enough. It would make Bruce and I very happy if you would go sit with the others and let us spoil you a little. We can’t do that if you’re in here running yourself ragged.”
“You want me to…?”
“Go sit down, yes. And we will be there in a couple of minutes.”
“Come on, Tovarich,” said Natasha, gifting him a cheeky smile, then she linked arms and led Bucky out into the festivities.
******
Eating had been an issue. Maybe it was something about living through the Great Depression, but there was something inbuilt in Steve that made him want to offer Bucky food at least once an hour. And Bucky just couldn’t eat it.
It had been so long…
“Buck…”
Bucky sighed. “Steve, I just can’t.”
“Is it the food itself, how it feels in your mouth? Or is it what it does to your stomach?”
“Do you really want me to go into detail?”
“I just want to understand. If it’s the type of food then we can change it. Maybe you need some meds to help your digestion.”
Bucky pushed his spoon around the bowl of cooling porridge on the tray in front of him. They hadn’t fed him, of course, not properly. It was inefficient and caused issues during the cryofreezing process. So there had been tubes and, over the course of 70 years, his body had forgotten how to function. Every mouthful he took now caused stomach cramps, sickness, diarrhoea, and through it all there was Steve, desperate to heal him, to help him.
He supposed he should have wished it could have been someone else dealing with it all but his pride had been shot away long ago. The only person he trusted was always there, right by his side.
He pushed at the porridge and Steve took it away. But the next time when Steve appeared from his hourly rummage in the kitchen he returned with a small pot of applesauce and, suddenly, a miracle occurred. Bucky’s first tentative bite quickly turned into the entire contents vanishing, with no side effects.
The flavour, the explosion of sweet, tangy apple, the softness of the stewed fruit, and the syrupy hint on his tongue, just blew his mind.
And this time they both cried.
******
Tony, still noticeably dedicated to his role as Master of Ceremonies, tapped his knife several times against his glass, the clear note resonating around the room.
“Quiet, please!” he called. “Thank you! Ladies and Gentlemen, let’s thank our chefs, our hosts, and ourselves for our excellent taste in food, drink, and good company!”
There was a raucous round of toasts and cheers as everyone sipped at their drinks and chinked their glasses together.
Steve stood up, champagne glass in hand, and waited for them all to quiet down. He gazed around the table, soaking up the incredible scene.
“It’s been quite a year,” he said. And then paused to let the weight of that statement sink in. “Almost exactly a full year since Bucky came back to us. To me. And there were times when I thought we weren’t going to get through, but we did it. And we did it with your help, our family. I realise I’m known for making speeches but right now there’s only one thing I want to say, and it’s something I never thought I’d get to say ever again.” He turned to Bucky and raised his glass. “Merry Christmas, Buck.”
Bucky had been gazing up at Steve, drinking in every word. But now, before he replied, he turned his somewhat teary gaze to every one of their friends in turn, thinking of how each of them had helped him in one way or another over the course of the past year. It was hard to even imagine that he was the same person he had been back then. The feral, abused assassin had come home at last. And this truly was his home, here in Avengers Tower with his childhood friend by his side.
Finally, he turned to look again at his best friend as he raised his glass.
“Merry Christmas, Stevie,” he whispered. “And peace to us all.”