The Pen is Mightier! (penismightier) wrote in chaotic_library, @ 2014-12-31 11:20:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | bruce banner, bucky barnes, clint barton, maria hill, marvel, natasha romanov, novel, pepper potts, r-rated, sharon carter, steve rogers, thor, tony stark, yuuo, yuuo: marvel |
[Bucky Barnes; R] I'll Be Home For Christmas: Chapter 9
Character/Series: Bucky Barnes, Cast; Marvel Cinematic Universe
Rating: R
Notes: Must remember to thank that commenter on AO3 for reminding me of Pepper's bad mood about this mess. Gave me plenty of word count! Also, if anyone wants the recipe that Bucky's going to use, lemme know, I'll hook you up. It looks like it might be too spicy for me, but it otherwise sounds good. I've had lamb, it's not bad.
Title: I'll Be Home For Christmas- Chapter 9: The Need To Go Home
Author: yuuo
Word Count: 5137
Summary: Jennie Brennan called him that evening.
Jennie Brennan called that evening. Bucky eyed the caller ID on the phone, taking less than a second to place it as the number of the shelter he'd dialed earlier, then answered it, leaving Steve to turn in his seat and frown at him in confusion.
"Is this Mister Barnes?" Jennie's voice asked over the phone.
"This is," he said. "You got my message, Miss Brennan?" Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Steve nod in understanding, then mostly turn back around, head still cocked to listen in.
"I did," Jennie said. "If you don't mind, since you said you could do it, I'd like you to come in on the twenty-fourth. We'll be okay here until this weekend, Saturday night. Can I count on you for that?"
Bucky looked back at the calendar they had in the kitchen for easy reference when checking expiration dates. As were most of his days, it was clear. "I can do that," he said, turning and resting one elbow on the table, his tablet momentarily abandoned. "Any other days?"
She made a thoughtful noise, like maybe she was looking over her own calendar. "Wouldn't mind having you that Monday and Tuesday, and then Friday night. You have the nineteenth crossed out, but we could certainly use you on that next Monday. And then on Christmas Eve, and then I think we'll actually be okay until the beginning of next month. If you plan on sticking around past Christmas, like I said, I'll need your availability updated for the new month."
Bucky once again looked at the calendar, mentally marking off what days those were, just to be certain. "I should be able to do all of those. If anything changes, I'll call."
"Then we'll see you on Saturday," she said. "And I hope you can be on call for the other nights?"
"I can be."
"I'll make note of that. Thank you so much, Mister Barnes. All the help we can get is appreciated."
They bid each other good bye, and he hung up. He'd almost gone back to his book- book being relative -when Steve spoke up.
"So what days are you working?" Steve asked.
"Saturday," he said. "Then Monday and Tuesday, Friday, and the Monday after Tony's charity ball. Then Christmas Eve. Might be more next month, they had most of the nights this month already covered."
Steve turned a bit more, staring in the direction the calendar. "There's a lot of potential for jobs to land in our laps during that time," he said.
Bucky shrugged. "I told her I might have to cancel last minute if a job came up, and she said they'd be okay. Tight, but they'd get by. Quite frankly, I'll be happy if nothing comes up at least until after I get to see Peter for Christmas. Then the world can go to hell and ask for our help digging it out."
"You have priorities," Steve said.
"They're good ones," Bucky said.
The days following were quiet. Steve decided to go gift shopping for Bucky on Friday, coming home with what seemed like way too much, and Bucky told him he'd better not have spent a fortune, or he'd retaliate. Steve replied with "I'd like to see you try."
Bucky's first night at the shelter was quiet. It was more accurate to say it was boring. It was sitting around, keeping watch over a bunch of sleeping guys, many getting older- Vietnam vets, according to Jennie.
He got formally introduced to the young man he'd seen when he'd gone in to apply.
"John Cooper," the young man said, shaking Bucky's hand.
"James Barnes," Bucky said.
John grinned. "Kinda figured. We heard a famous war vet was going to be helping out and some of us went crazy."
"Did that include you?" Bucky asked, raising an eyebrow with a jerk smile on his face.
Like before, John returned Bucky's expression match for match. "Depends on your definition of crazy." While Bucky laughed, John looked awfully proud of himself. "Does anyone outside of the Avengers manage to get the stoic Winter Soldier to laugh?"
"My brother," Bucky said. "But it's a little easier these days than it had been when I lived in DC."
"Must be nice to not be keeping such a heavy secret," John said, glancing at the front entrance. They were about fifteen minutes away from opening their doors to the vets, and there had been a helluva line when Bucky had gotten there already.
Bucky had a feeling they'd be turning some of those guys away, and he felt awful about it.
"It's helped," Bucky said. "Of course, there's still Hydra to deal with, and I think they're more pissed at me than they had been before."
"They've attacked?" John asked. "I haven't heard of anything happening in DC that would suggest them since SHIELD was taken down."
Bucky shook his head. "No, nothing so blatant. We've had a few jobs that were false calls, Hydra trying to get us into trouble. But our work against Hydra is charity, so we haven't had a problem taking them out and not getting paid for it. There's not really any lost love there."
"I can imagine," John said. He looked towards the front doors again, then checked his watch. "I need to get back to the kitchen. I'm helping you on security after the kitchen's done with me, if you can hold the fort for about twenty minutes after the meal's over."
"I can handle this bunch," Bucky assured him.
If Bucky hadn't been a former soldier and currently an enhanced mutate, he might've been exhausted by the end of the night, nothing to do but watch the sleeping men and chat quietly with John. But, morning came, breakfast was served, and the men were sent out to the cold again. There had to be a better solution in Bucky's mind, but like Tony'd said, the system was busted, and there wasn't anything any one person could do to fix it.
It was cold, but not terribly so, not enough that Bucky wasn't warm enough with his gloves and his double-layered coat when the hoodie under the Army jacket was zipped up, so he sent a text to Steve, saying he'd be home late, he wanted to walk around a bit.
He watched the men in the streets dispersing from the area of the shelter, not straying far, but hiding back in corners and into crude lean-tos that had been set up to accommodate who couldn't get into the shelter. Some of what was worn among the men didn't look half warm enough to make it through a winter in the northern latitudes. Bucky wished he had the money on hand to buy a bunch of coats for them.
He'd talk to Tony about it later, maybe get some delivered to the shelter to be handed out to those who needed them. He didn't like asking Tony for favors, not after lying to get one, but this wasn't for him, so maybe Tony would be more willing.
The crisp air was freezing his nose, and he decided it was about time to call a cab and head home, when he noticed a shop advertising Christmas wrapping and decorations across the street. They weren't in need of decorations; they preferred simple, rather than plastering the walls with lights and garland and stockings and whatever manner of things Tony could probably think of to hang up.
But wrapping paper was something Bucky would need. He saw that Steve had gotten some when he'd gone shopping, but having one kind of wrapping paper would make it confusing which present belonged to whom. He decided to at least take a look, and if nothing caught his eye, they could just be confused and have to label their gifts to each other.
He hustled across the street when the walk sign flashed at him, and gratefully stepped into the heated store and out of the cold, pulling back his hood to let the warmth defrost his ears.
There was Christmas music playing, but that had been the norm since before Thanksgiving, and while Bucky missed out on the worst of the Christmas creep, having been hiding or on the run since shortly before Thanksgiving, he was already tired of it. He couldn't imagine having to work in one of those places, hearing it eight hours a day for over a month.
The walls were painted a warm gold, with white lights decorating them, making the place look like the well-off antique store from his childhood that his grandmother would take Bucky and his siblings to whenever she visited. They never went any other time, being children uninterested in antiques, but their grandmother would make up stories to go with each item, giving them a sort of magic that their more scientifically minded household hadn't given them.
But while the inside of the store reminded him of the antique store, there were no antiques to be found. Just wreaths, trees, lights, garland, ornaments of every shape and color and oh god, there really were black ornaments out there. Bucky stared at them a moment, then moved on.
What he was interested in, though, was the wrapping paper.
There were several bins of wrapping, going gradually up in price as supposed quality went up. Most were typical, reflective silver and gold, with Santa Claus and snowmen and "season's greetings" and snow. There were a few dedicated to the Christian message of Christmas, and some aimed more at children with cartoons and toys and superheroes.
Oh, hello. Superheroes.
Bucky searched through those, having seen an Iron Man roll, hoping he'd find a roll of Captain America wrapping paper, because if he did, he was going to have to buy it and make Steve very cross with him.
He actually found several rolls of Captain America wrapping paper, including one with the Winter Soldier on it, which he promptly put back in the box. It was weird being a superhero all of a sudden.
He finally settled on a roll that was as shiny as a pile of glitter, because he knew Steve would be even more annoyed over that than over one with a dull surface.
Before getting in line, he pulled his hood back up, not wanting anyone to make a connection between the wrapping paper and him; he rarely had anyone recognize him while out and about, but putting Captain America right next to his face might make someone realize who he was, and he really wasn't in the mood for that.
The store was busy, so it was a good fifteen minute wait in line. Many people had loaded carts full of things that he was surprised hadn't been already sold out. Clearance stuff the store was trying to get rid of before Christmas hit.
"Did you find everything today, sir?" the cashier, a young Hispanic woman with a noticeable accent, asked as he finally reached the front of the line and handed over the wrapping paper to be scanned.
"Yeah," he said, already reaching into his pocket for his wallet. The line was long, people were tired, there was no point in holding things up by not having his money ready.
"For your children?" the woman asked, bagging the paper in a bag that must've been made specially for rolls of wrapping paper, tall and narrow, with just the top of the roll sticking out. Enough that Steve would see what it was when Bucky got home with it.
Perfect.
"A brother, actually," he said. "Not much younger than me, I just decided to be funny this year."
The woman laughed, told him his total, and accepted his money when he handed it over. "Well, that's okay. Everyone loves Captain America."
Bucky decided to do a bit of public opinion fishing. "Even after the disaster with the Winter Soldier?" He rather hoped he wasn't giving himself away in the process.
"Oh, that. No, everyone still loves Captain America. If he thinks the Winter Soldier's okay, then so do most of us." She handed him his change and his bag. "Thank you, sir, happy holidays."
He wished her the same, getting out of the way of the next person in line, and headed for the door, the bag with the wrapping paper held against his shoulder like a rifle held by a man in military dress; the butt in his hand, held low, the barrel propped against his shoulder. He hadn't consciously chosen to hold it like that, but it kept it mostly out of the way of other pedestrians as he hailed a taxi.
Once at the Tower and the cabbie was paid, Bucky made his way up to their apartment, completely unashamed to ask JARVIS to give him the express elevator up and bypass dealing with people going up to other floors. JARVIS was kind enough to oblige him.
Steve was curled up on the couch with a new book when Bucky got in. "You stayed out awhile," he said, marking his place in his book. "Where did yo-" He cut himself off, staring at the top of the wrapping paper over the bag. "Please tell me that's not Captain America wrapping paper."
A completely evil smile curled on Bucky's lips. "If I tell you that, you'll just smack me for lying."
Steve took in one of those deep breaths that said he was quickly counting to ten in about every language he knew to keep from throwing that book at Bucky's head. "Bucky, I hate you sometimes."
"It's not too late," Bucky said, setting the bag down long enough to shuck off his coat and boots, gloves shoved into his coat pockets. "There was more there at the store, including some with me, if you want revenge. I might have to do something worse next year if you do, though."
Before he'd gotten both boots off, Steve had joined him by the door and was examining the wrapping paper. "It's shiny. Bucky, you couldn't even get some regular paper, you had to get the stuff that would blind me when the tree lights reflect off of it?"
Bucky stuck his boots into the closet and straightened, that smile still on his face. "If I'd gotten anything but the most obnoxious stuff available, you'd worry I'd hit my head or something."
"I hate that you're right," Steve said. With one more dirty look at the wrapping paper, he headed back for the couch. "So at the risk of sounding like a housewife who's been waiting for you to get home, how'd the night at the shelter go?"
Bucky propped the paper against the wall by the corner of the hall to take back to his room later, then joined Steve in the living room, taking a seat on the other couch. That put his back to the door, but he was tired enough to let Steve take over the security for the time being. "Boring as hell," he said. "There's really nothing to do when a hundred and thirty-six guys are just snoring the night away. Jennie said I could bring a book or something next time, but I doubt that's a good idea. I'll either get lost in the book and miss it if trouble starts, or I won't be able to read the book, because I'll be listening for said trouble."
"Maybe something other than a book?" Steve suggested. "Doesn't that tablet have more than just books on it?"
"Solitaire games," Bucky said, "but I hate those games. The volunteers just talk to each other."
"And here's the part where I turn into your mother," Steve said. "Did you make any friends at school today?"
"You know, I could've found much worse for that wrapping paper, you asshole," Bucky said. "And you know how I am about making friends. Just because I'll talk to someone doesn't mean they're my friend."
Steve nodded slightly, as if taking in what Bucky said for evaluation. "So, fine, let me rephrase. You've found a coworker that doesn't annoy you enough to keep you from talking to them. Please tell me it's a pretty girl that you can hopefully ask out for coffee eventually."
"I fucking hate you," Bucky said without any heat. "I'll find a girl when I find a girl, would you relax? Just because you're paired off doesn't mean it's time to play matchmaker for me. Jesus." He shifted on the couch, pulling his legs up to cross them underneath him. "But no, guy named John Cooper. Nice kid, I think he's padding up his resume to go to ESU here in Manhattan."
"So he's a high schooler, and he's doing overnight volunteer work?" Steve sounded confused. He looked confused, too.
Bucky shook his head. "No, he's graduated. I don't know what he's doing to keep up qualifying grades in the meantime, he didn't say." He stifled a yawn, and started to look at the clock, then remembered he still had their work phone in his pocket, and pulled it out, eyeing the time before setting it on the coffee table. "Should I stay up to cook lunch?" he asked. "It's another hour and a half until noon."
Steve stared at Bucky over imaginary glasses, lowering his chin and giving Bucky a deadpan look. "Bucky, I can cook my own lunch. Just because you usually do doesn't mean I've forgotten how to do it myself. But," he looked at his watch. "Did they feed you at the shelter?"
"A little, but not much," Bucky said. "Just some of the leftovers from the guys' dinners."
"Then you should probably try to stay up long enough to make it to lunch, eat, and then go get some sleep." Then Steve apparently decided to be Captain Obvious instead of Captain America. "You look tired."
"You noticed that?" Bucky said, this time not stifling another yawn. "I'm letting you cook. I don't have enough adrenaline in my sytem to make me safe for being around hot surfaces right now."
"Want me to make you something now, and you can make dinner this evening after you get some rest?" Steve asked.
Bucky stayed silent a moment, trying to determine how tired he actually was. He'd gone longer without sleep, and quite easily, but that was typically on mission, when adrenaline and mental discipline came into play. When running in civvie mode, his body tended to make him get proper sleep and punished him for not doing so.
Finally, he nodded, yawning again. "Yeah, okay. I don't care what you make. Surprise me."
"Anchovies and peanut butter it is," Steve said, standing up.
Bucky glared at his retreating back as Steve headed for the kitchen. "That's disgusting and we don't have any anchovies anyway."
"Are you sure about that?" Steve asked, not turning around.
Bucky watched him open the fridge and dig around. "It'd be a lot of protein, I guess," he said, too tired to come up with a witty retort, and confident that even if they had anchovies for some bizarre reason, Steve was not going to feed them to him, much less with peanut butter to make an awful taste combination. He couldn't imagine anyone actually finding that appealing.
His eyes had closed and stayed closed by the time Steve returned to the living room, nudging Bucky's flesh shoulder. Bucky startled slightly, not sure when his brain had started to enter sleep mode, but he'd been awake enough that his first reaction was not to prepare to defend himself, but to look at Steve blankly before his woke back up enough to take his plate with his sandwich. He eyed the plate. "Oh, hey, you remembered my snack cake."
"You never forget my Doritos," Steve said.
Bucky thought he smiled in response, but he was tired, he might not have managed it. He just ate the sandwich quietly, barely noticing what meat it was, much less registering what kind of cheese it had. It was food, and that's all he really cared about.
Once his food was gone, he got up; Steve took his plate before he could even start in the direction of the kitchen, and shooed him to his room. Bucky didn't argue, just headed back down the hall to his bedroom.
He shut the door, changing into something other than his street clothes to sleep in, although it felt weird to be wearing his pajamas in the middle of the day. But once his clothes had been stuffed into his dirty clothes hamper, he could only stare at his bed. It looked too soft, far too soft. Like something he didn't have right to. Something that everyone should have, not just lucky people like him.
With a sigh, he grabbed his pillow and blanket and dropped them on the floor. Even if it wasn't the middle of the day and Steve wasn't up and it wasn't bright outside, the couches sounded too soft, too. Everything was too soft, too nice, too climate-controlled and full of accessible food and a place to use the damn bathroom without possibly getting kicked out for not buying something.
It was all something he'd give to one of those guys in a heartbeat. He knew how hard it was out there, and some of those guys had been out there for years. He'd been out there a month before Steve had welcomed him home with open arms.
"JARVIS?" he said quietly, settling down on the floor.
"Yes, Mister Barnes?" JARVIS replied, his voice turned down to nighttime volumes.
"Next time Tony has a free minute, tell him I said thanks for the nice place to live."
"I will, sir," JARVIS said. "Might I suggest you enjoy that nice place and sleep on the bed?"
One corner of his lips twitched into a smile. "It's too soft right now, JARVIS," he said. "Tony would understand."
He set his internal clock for six hours of sleep, then let himself doze off.
When he woke, his right shoulder ached, not much, just a dull sense of pain, and his neck felt a bit stiff. He looked around his room, momentarily confused as to why Steve's bed was not on the other side, and where Steve even was. Had he been pretending to sleepwalk again? That was the only reason he slept on the floor-
Oh, wait. Right.
He sat up, rolling his right shoulder in its socket to stretch it, then rolled his head until his neck popped with a satisfying crunch. He looked at his clock: four thirteen. Good, his internal alarm clock was still functional.
After changing back into proper clothing and dumping his bedding back on his bed, he joined Steve in the living room. "What do you want for dinner?" he asked, heading right past him towards the kitchen to take stock of what they had, if he chose something that needed time to make.
"Food," Steve answered, not even looking up from his book.
"Aren't you as cute as a fluffy bunny," Bucky said, stopping to give the back of Steve's head a dirty look.
"Excuse me, sirs," JARVIS's voice interrupted whatever Steve was starting to say. "Mister Stark is calling. Shall I lower the display for you?
"Please," Steve said, setting aside his book. Bucky walked back over to join Steve, standing behind the couch, leaning on it next to Steve.
The screen lowered, blocking off the tree, and Tony's face appeared on it seconds later. "Hey, old guys. When's the next day you can have guests over for dinner?"
Bucky's eyebrows raised. "Wednesday would be best, unless you want me to have to leave early. I work tomorrow night and Tuesday night. Why?"
Tony looked thoughtful, or maybe like he was reconsidering why he was asking. "I'm inviting Pepper and I over for dinner. Pepper's still mad at you, probably more than I am. I'm trying to convince her to give you a chance to apologize and make up for it. I figure that your superb cooking can be a peace offering."
Both Steve and Bucky were quiet for a moment, then Steve sighed. "We do kinda owe her an apology, too."
"To say the least," Tony said. "Just imagine how you'd feel if someone did what you did to our other old guy friend there."
"I'll handle it," Bucky said, looking at Steve. "Your speeches are nice and heroic, but your idea of apologizing includes looking at the ground and mumbling a lot." He looked back up at Tony. "If you don't mind a slightly late dinner, you can come over tonight. Just give me time to make something that might earn us a stay of execution."
"Hm." Tony looked down at the corner of his screen. "So it's almost four thirty. If you're fast, there's a meat shop about a fifteen minute walk from here that sells some rare cuts. She likes lamb. But nothing with strawberries, she's allergic to those."
Bucky nodded once. "I'll keep that in mind. Give me a few minutes to find a recipe, I'll call you back, see if it passes muster."
"Just get your tablet and start looking," Tony said. "List them off, I'll yea or nay them."
Bucky didn't argue, he just stepped away to the table and grabbed his tablet. Before he'd even returned to the couch and sat down on the other one, he was running a search for recipes involving lamb. "Just so you know," he said, a bit distracted by his search, "I've never cooked lamb."
"After tasting your hashbrowns, I have confidence in you," Tony said. "Hit me."
Bucky frowned. "I'm guessing to impress, kabobs, gyros and burger type things are not going to work. So that's about half the recipes in here."
"Good guess," Tony said.
Bucky clicked on one that sounded suitably fancy and eyed the ingredients list. "Lamb Tagine. I think I have all these ingredients except the saffro- oh." He stared at the page. "Prep time, almost eleven hours. Not using that one, then."
"Probably not, no," Tony agreed.
Bucky started opening a few tabs at a time, going through them one by one. "That one would have us eating at eight at the earliest." Close, next tab. "I'd ask about this one, but it has prunes, and I don't like prunes."
"At your age?"
Bucky glared at him. "Funny, Tony." He went back to his list. "This one should be done fast enough, after time for us to pick up the lamb. Butter Lamb Gravy?" He looked up at Tony.
"Not sure she's had that. Not since she moved in with me, but I don't know about before. What's in it?"
Bucky rattled off the ingredients list. "I have everything on that list except the lamb and the garam masala. I'm not even sure what that is."
"It's a type of spice blend used in Indian cooking," Tony said. "You can find it at a store over on Murray Hill here in Manhattan. I know of a place called Kalustyan, but it's pricey compared to some others in that area."
Bucky raised an eyebrow at him. "You know your ethnic spices."
Tony smirked. "I'm rich, I travel the world, and my lovely lady likes a meat that's most commonly found in Mediterranean and Indian cooking. I've learned a thing or two."
After checking the clock one more time, Bucky did quick math. "It's nearing rush hour, so give us an hour to get the meat and that spice, the recipe says it takes about an hour to make, so dinner should be ready around six-thirty, maybe seven."
"Then we'll be there by six," Tony said. "Dress nicely, make a good impression. You're trying to ease the ire of Pepper. I'm scared of the ire of Pepper. You should be too."
"How nice is nice?" Bucky asked. "Because if we're trying to soothe an unhappy woman, I'm going to have to say, our suits won't be ready until the fifteenth."
"Not that nice," Tony said. "But try to wear something other than your casual cargoes. You guys do have regular dress clothes, right? Like, business casual?"
Steve gave Bucky a sidelong look. "We have nice clothes, someone thinks he's funny."
Bucky arched an eyebrow at Steve. "You know, growing up with a strict Irish mother should've taught you that you pull out all stops when you're trying to make up for something when it comes to women."
"You know, we men that have been lied to kinda like it when the stops are pulled when it comes to sucking up to us, too," Tony said.
Steve started to say something, but Bucky hushed him, studying Tony. "That's why you've been fussing at every detail around here, isn't it?"
Tony looked like he just got caught in something he didn't want to confess to. He frowned, looking off to the side, not making eye contact, then reluctantly nodded in a side to side motion. "Okay, yeah. A little. Maybe. Just trying to make things normal again, maybe make it less of an issue. I don't like dealing with issues." Then he finally faced them again, mostly focused on Bucky. "It hurt, you know. Not what Hydra did, I know that's not your fault. I've studied those files possibly even more than you. But you both decided I didn't deserve to know."
Steve looked possibly even guiltier than Bucky felt. Steve never was good at lying, hated when he did it, and couldn't say enough hail marys to make himself feel better about it later, even after having a chance to apologize.
But then, it'd been Steve's idea to go to Tony for help with Bucky's arm without telling him about Howard and Maria.
Bucky took in a deep breath, looking back at Tony. "Then I'm cooking for you both. What kind of wine goes well with lamb? We'll pick some up."
"Oh, doing the wining and dining thing? You might survive tonight," Tony said. "Strong red wines go best with strongly-flavored lamb dishes. A merlot would work."
"Noted," Bucky said. "If you want dinner to be on time, we're going to have to hang up and get moving before the worst of rush hour traffic hits."
"Get your asses going," Tony said. "We'll be there at six, whether you're there or not. Gonna say, it'll make a better impression if you're there and dressed."
"We'll be here," Steve said, then stood as the screen went dark and raised back into the ceiling. Without a word, they both went to the coat closet, grabbed their shoes and coats, checked their wallets, and headed out the door.