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The Pen is Mightier! (penismightier) wrote in chaotic_library, @ 2015-01-06 13:16:00

[Bucky Barnes; R] I'll Be Home For Christmas: Chapter 15
Character/Series: Bucky Barnes, Cast; Marvel Cinematic Universe
Rating: R
Notes: Damnit, Bucky, your Christmas Eve with your brother was supposed to be nice and easy to write, and maybe even gloss over. But noooooo, you and your feels.
Title: I'll Be Home For Christmas- Chapter 15: Christmas Eve
Author: yuuo
Word Count: 5563
Summary: While Steve slept just enough that day to put himself on a proper diurnal schedule, Bucky elected to stay on a third shift sleep cycle, since he worked overnight on Monday night.


While Steve slept just enough that day to put himself on a proper diurnal schedule, Bucky elected to stay on a third shift sleep cycle, since he worked overnight on Monday night. They didn't see each other much on Monday as a result, but they had an early dinner that evening, then parted ways to do their respective charity work.

Bucky had the work phone with him, Steve had their personal, and at about eight that night, the phone buzzed in his pocket. He grabbed it and looked at the caller ID just long enough to see it was Steve calling. Worried that something had gone wrong, he backed towards the kitchen, away from the sleeping vets, before answering it. "Please tell me one of the hospitals didn't blow up, Steve."

"You would've heard the explosion," a woman's voice said, and Bucky just barely recognized her as the reporter. "I borrowed your phone, I hope you don't mind. But I had a feeling you'd want to hear something. We're at St. John's Children's Hospital, and Captain Rogers felt the need to speak to the administration staff that was here for press opportunities. I suspect that they aren't getting good press with this."

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose. "What did he say?"

"Listen for yourself," she said, and a few seconds later, he could hear Steve's voice- obviously recorded, but still clear -over the line.

"I almost didn't come here tonight," Steve said. "I wasn't happy with the fact that my best friend was pointedly made unwelcome. It was Bucky who convinced me to come, more worried about the kids than you guys. It's a cold day in hell when a former assassin cares more about these kids than the administrators of a children's hospital. If you want me back next year, he's welcome, or I'm not."

With an audible groan, Bucky rubbed his forehead with his metal hand. "Miss Soll, please tell Steve that I said he's an idiot."

"Will do, Mister Barnes. Have a Merry Christmas!"

She hung up.

Bucky toured the island a bit after he left the shelter, hoping, rather in vain, to find something he could give his brother for Christmas, and no, damnit, just cooking dinner for him did not count. But he realized that he honestly had no idea what to get Peter. He had no idea what movies or books he'd be interested in that he might not already have, what hobbies he might've picked up since Bucky died, or anything, really. Peter had introduced him to a lot of the family through pictures and stories, but nothing about himself. Other than the facts that Peter was a former Navy officer, had been with his partner for over fifty years, and that he'd converted to Christianity somewhere along the way, Bucky knew nothing of the man his brother had become.

Depressed about this fact, he hailed a cab and returned to the Tower empty-handed.

Another handful of days passed, until Christmas Eve swung around. Bucky had raided the local butcher shops for goose and duck, and had his kitchen stocked almost more than it could hold, and given its size, that took some work. And that wasn't even half of what he needed to feed ten people, three with accelerated metabolisms.

Tony found out that he was storing food for the Avengers Christmas party that he'd been volunteered to cook for and immediately had it moved to one of the kitchens that handled the various functions hosted at Stark Tower. That freed up Bucky's cupboards for normal groceries.

And another box of snack cakes. They wouldn't be around much longer, after all.

Bucky started lunch early, the recipe he'd chosen took awhile to cook. "Peter had better appreciate this," he grumbled in Steve's direction as the clock ticked towards ten, when Peter should be arriving. "This recipe is annoying."

"Because you hate a chance to try complicated dishes," Steve said. "Tell me you didn't try to find the hardest roast duck dish to make."

"Did not," Bucky said. "I've found harder. I've made something similar to this, it's just been so long, I don't remember what the hell I'm doing. But Peter wanted me to cook roast duck for him, so he's getting roast duck. So yes, he'd better appreciate it."

"Keep trying to be annoyed," Steve said. "I'm almost convinced."

Bucky pulled the duck from the oven and poured a white wine mixture over it before returning it to the oven and turning down the heat. He felt agitated. He had absolutely nothing to give his brother, who had become damn near a stranger over the last seventy years, besides a decent lunch that Peter had requested. That food had become a mission, and it was taking some of the fun out of cooking for him.

"You really are in a bad mood, aren't you?" Steve asked, sounding surprised.

Able to spare a minute to do so, Bucky turned to face Steve, leaning back against the counter. "No, not in a bad mood. Just focusing on a complicated recipe that I haven't made in decades so I don't serve my only surviving sibling shit food for Christmas."

"So you're nervous," Steve supplied. "Relax. Peter's going to be happy just to see you."

Bucky tapped one metal finger on his flesh arm, arms crossed. "He deserves better than to travel all the way from Annapolis in cold weather for a burned or bland duck."

"Your cooking is fine," Steve said. "Stop worrying so much, or else you'll make Peter miserable. He'll pick up on your nerves."

"Not helping," Bucky said, the tapping finger stopping as the whole hand curled into a frustrated fist and took up the finger's job of tapping against his flesh arm. He knew Steve was right, Peter was a sharp kid, or had been, at one time, and there it was again, that internal reminder that he knew nothing of his brother now. He bit back a sigh. He'd been fine with it before, figured he'd catch up easily, had fooled himself into thinking that the two would just slip back into old times, because while Bucky had changed, he could hide what had changed about him for short visits.

He'd forgotten to notice that Peter had changed, too.

"Excuse me, sirs," JARVIS spoke up. "But Mister Peter Barnes has arrived and is on his way up the elevator from the garage now."

"Thanks, JARVIS," Steve said, packing up his pencils and his sketch book. He put them away on the bookcase and looked at Bucky. "You're going to calm down and enjoy Christmas Eve with your brother." At Bucky's frown, Steve walked over and put a hand on Bucky's metal shoulder. "Seriously, Buck, settle down. Having you back is gift enough for both him and I." He motioned to the presents under the tree that were wrapped in godawful Captain America wrapping paper. "You didn't even have to get me those. He asked for the meal, that's what he wants. And your cooking is good, it always is. So relax, okay?"

Steve's little speech wasn't doing much to calm Bucky's nerves on the main subject bouncing around in his brain, but it calmed him down about the quality of his food, anyway.

"You got me presents first," Bucky said. "I can't let you go without having to suffer my unique gift-giving abilities."

Steve rolled his eyes, dropping his hand. "I remember the snow down my shirt."

"I wasn't talking about that," Bucky said. "That was once, and I never did it again when it triggered an asthma attack. I was talking about the book of inappropriate jokes that your mother damn near banned me from the house over."

"I remember that book," Steve said. "Mom had a fit."

JARVIS's voice announced Peter's presence at the door about a half a second before a knock drowned him out. Bucky and Steve exchanged a look before Steve walked over and opened the door. "You know," Steve said, "JARVIS can let us know you're here. You didn't need to knock."

"I'm more low class than I thought," Peter said, stepping in past Steve. He was bundled under an old Navy coat, with his gloves sticking out of his right pocket, and two wrapped presents under one arm. "I don't like the idea of being announced like some important, high society old fart." He turned his attention to the kitchen, just barely reacting to Steve's offer to take his coat, sniffing the air pointedly. "I see your skills in the kitchen are still to be envied." He handed off his coat to Steve to be put in the coat closet.

"Taste remains to be seen," Bucky said. He did his best to recognize little Peter past the age-weathered face, the wrinkles, the grayed hair. It was the eyes that looked familiar, still blue and bright and intelligent.

Peter scoffed at him. "If it tastes half as good as it smells, it'll be your culinary masterpiece." He studied the open living area. "This is a nice place. Mister Stark went all out for you guys." He motioned to the tree with the gifts. "Mind if I put these under there?"

"Go ahead," Bucky said, watching and hoping his brother would notice the Old Glory theme and give Steve a sideways look for it.

Peter did not disappoint. He stopped, staring at the tree, examining every square inch of the ten foot monstrosity. "Decided to be patriotic this year?"

Steve made an aggravated noise. "Tony thought he was funny," he said, sitting down at the table. "Come on, put the presents down and come sit at the table. Easier to talk to the guy in the kitchen from here."

Peter crouched down, pausing with the gifts midway to the ground. "Is Mister Stark to blame for the wrapping paper, too?"

There was that noise from Steve again, and Bucky couldn't help snickering. "That's your brother's fault. Everyone around here thinks they're a comedian."

"I see my brother hasn't changed much," Peter said, joining Steve at the table.

Bucky wished there was something immediate to do for the duck that he could hide behind. He'd changed more than Peter realized, but Peter made a point, to an extent; much of what people around him were allowed to see was the same Bucky as ever.

Peter, on the other hand, was a stranger.

"Just because I'm old doesn't mean I have to grow up," Bucky said, throwing on a smile like a security blanket.

"A Barnes family tradition," Peter said. "Mom and Dad were the same way. So were Paul and Rebecca. Mary inherited more from Paul than anyone cared for. Some of the other nieces and nephews escaped the curse, but most of them stayed children forever."

"And I suppose you just grew up into this paragon of maturity," Bucky said.

"Hell no," Peter said. "I had nieces and nephews to teach bad things to, sugar up, and then send home to our adoring brother and sister. Hard to be the fun uncle when you've got a stick up your ass."

Bucky shut the dirty joke in his mind up right away. That was his baby brother, fer chrissakes.

Something on his face must've betrayed that thought, though, because Peter immediately pointed at him. "Say it, and I'll have you scrubbing decks until you're a hundred."

Okay, fine, since Peter wanted to make it come up, Bucky would run with it. "Considering that's only a couple years away, I think that threat holds less water than your little tugboats. And I didn't say it. I tried to not even think it. You weren't a teenager yet when I last saw you, I haven't gotten used to the 'we're both adults and can talk about adult things together' thing yet. Say something smart, and I might have to make a comment about that mouth of yours, though."

Peter dropped his hand, head tilted back in laughter. "Oh, I have missed you, Bucky." He pointed to a chair next to him. "I don't suppose the bird can be left alone for awhile so you can come join us?"

Bucky glanced at his oven timer, then brought his tablet out of sleep to check the recipe again. "I've got about forty-five minutes, yeah." He put his tablet back to sleep and set it down on a counter not being used for food preparation, and joined Steve and Peter back at the table. "So what're your plans for the rest of the holiday?"

Peter sat back. "Well, tonight's the candlelight service at church. I don't generally go to Christmas morning service, though. The family gets together too early, and most of them aren't religious, so church doesn't get worked around much. I figure, God probably understands. He gave me the family, I'd better take care of it."

"What about on Christmas? You said the family gets together. At your place?" Bucky mentally calculated how many people could comfortably fit in Peter's house. There'd been a fairly sizable dining room with an equally sizable table, but the living room had been sparsely furnished. There might've been more to the house that Bucky simply hadn't seen, though. A family room, maybe, or a finished basement.

"Most of them, yes," Peter said. "Paul's kids and their kids, same with Rebecca's. Frank had a little brother who comes by with his wife and their daughter for part of the afternoon. Eric and Frank's parents passed away when they were young, so Frank and I were his only family for awhile. He and his wife never had a problem with us, their kids just think of me as Uncle Peter."

"Good," Bucky said. "I know people can be dickholes about that subject."

Peter smiled. "I got lucky," he admitted. "Not all people are." He shrugged. "But enough of that, what plans do you two have for Christmas?"

Bucky almost protested; he wanted to know more about his brother, he wanted to ask questions, to hear Peter talk about the years that Bucky missed. But Peter obviously wasn't interested, so he set aside his thought on that and decided to just answer the question. "I'm volunteering tonight at a local homeless shelter that deals with vets," he said. "I've been working there a couple weeks now. Tomorrow, Tony is gathering all of the Avengers close and making me feed us while he douses everyone in alcohol."

"As long as he doesn't set you on fire after that dousing," Peter said. "How'd you get volunteered to cook?"

"He volunteered himself," Steve said before Bucky could say anything. At Bucky's dirty look, Steve raised an eyebrow. "Deny it. You said outright that you needed to have friends for you to cook for. You have friends, you're cooking for them."

Peter chuckled. "And I'm sure you're so heartbroken over it. I know you better than that."

Bucky stared at him a moment, biting back bitter thoughts. Peter obviously didn't know him well enough to realize that Bucky would want to hear about his life, not well enough to realize how badly Hydra ripped apart his brain. It may have seemed to Peter that Bucky had recovered, but Steve would probably laugh at him if he suggested it. Peter knew pre-Hydra Bucky. Just because Bucky had a lot in common with how he'd been now that he'd recovered somewhat didn't mean that Peter knew him as much as he seemed to think.

Bucky shook his head. "You got me," he said. He looked over at his timer. Please, for the love of god, say it's time to do something. No, not time to get up. And unlike at the apartment in DC, excusing himself to the bathroom wouldn't put him out of sight until he was actually in the bathroom, and eavesdropping from in there wasn't easy. He'd be better off not hearing whatever Steve might tell Peter to reassure him that everything was a-okay, but not knowing that variable wouldn't help Bucky figure out how to approach the day.

He got up. "It occurs to me that I'm wearing too nice of a shirt to be cooking in, when my recipe warns me that the sauce is basically going to spit at me while it boils. I'll be right back."

Not quite as smooth as an excuse to the bathroom, but it allowed him a bit more time to regroup than the bathroom would grant him.

Peter and Steve were quiet behind him as he stepped into his room and shut the door. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the door. I can't do this, he thought. When he first found out Peter was alive, there'd been nothing on his mind more than wanting to see what was left of his family, wanting to see that one last tie to the world he'd grown up in, to be there for Peter where he hadn't been for Paul and Rebecca. Now, the reality of what that meant was starting to settle in, and he wasn't sure he liked it.

"JARVIS, I have a feeling you don't like spying, and if you can't or won't, tell me, but what the hell are they saying out there?" he asked, voice low.

"Captain Rogers is assuring your brother that you are merely nervous, and that the two of you have recently had quite a bit of stress to deal with. He is not giving details, however," JARVIS answered, his voice quiet and apparently limited to just Bucky's room.

"Good enough," Bucky said, pushing away from his door. "Thanks, JARVIS."

"Any time, sir," JARVIS said.

Bucky grabbed an old shirt that he'd been holding onto since his days in the streets, a basic black turtleneck that wasn't nearly as warm, comfortable, or serviceable as the shirt worn under his tactical gear, but it was perfect for what he needed. It didn't matter much if it got a bit of orange sauce splash on it, without looking like it was ready for the garbage. He had more class than to walk around a Christmas dinner with family in a shirt better suited in a trailer park in the south.

When Peter and Steve both turned to look at him upon returning to the living area, Bucky stopped and scowled. "I'm not on a runway, I'm not doing a pirouette to show off my shiny new clothes," he said.

Steve shook his head, clearly trying to hold back a laugh.

Peter wasn't bothering to try. "You're not fabulous enough to pull that off convincingly anyway," he said.

Bucky tilted his head, chin lowered and staring at Peter over the tip of his nose. "I would make the worst gay man ever, and you know it. I like looking at tits too much." He rejoined Peter and Steve at the table. "One of these times, it's gonna get me slapped."

"As if it hadn't in the past?" Steve asked, raising one eyebrow.

"I learned how to be subtle about it," Bucky said. "But I'm out of practice. I have a feeling it'll take a knock or two to relearn it." He leaned his elbows on the table. "The question is, are you subtle enough to not earn a smack from Sharon for it?"

Steve was thoughtful. "Sharon might not mind, actually."

"Who's Sharon?" Peter asked, looking between Bucky and Steve.

Bucky nodded in Steve's direction. "Steve's new girlfriend, and I'm hoping this one sticks, because I like her, and he'd be stupid to let her go."

"She's put up with protecting my dumb ass for how long now? I think she's likely to stick around," Steve said.

"I never thought you'd get a girl," Peter said. "Not with all the trouble you had way back when."

Steve shrugged. "I had some chemical help getting my foot through the door with women."

Bucky made a point of checking the oven timer again, silently stepping away from the conversation without leaving the table. Fortunately for his nerves, Steve picked up on the hint and took over the conversation, and Bucky marveled at how they could talk about a lot of nothing as if nothing had changed in the last seventy years. Maybe Steve had figured out what had Bucky wound up so tight about the day, and was trying to get around Peter's dodging tactics and what was coming out was a big zilch. Maybe Steve and Peter both failed to notice what was wrong in the first place.

Maybe the problem was that Bucky was too good at pretending what was wrong wasn't really what was wrong. He wasn't sure when that started. He used to be a lot more honest about himself.

The conversation continued until Bucky was forced to leave the table to tend to the food, mixing the sauce, which, as promised, bubbled and spat at him. Nothing got on him, but he was just as glad he'd thought to change his shirt. The duck was finished before the sauce, but it was hot enough that it had to cool while he finished making the sauce with the pan juices.

After a few minutes of letting the sauce thicken and the bird cool, Bucky declared lunch done and told Steve and his brother that they were grown men, they could come dish their own damn plates.

They both declared Bucky just bursting with the Christmas spirit for that.

Bucky only picked at his food at first. He was bumping up against brick walls for conversations topics, and saying 'thanks' to Peter's compliments on the cooking wasn't much to run off of. Fortunately, eating seemed to occupy the others' mouths.

"Something wrong?" Peter asked.

Bucky looked up, blinking owlishly at him. "Hm? Oh, fine." He frowned at his food. "Something doesn't taste right to me, that's all."

"It tastes fine to me," Steve said, looking across the table at Bucky's plate.

"It's a different recipe than what you used to make," Peter said. "But the quality's fine. Stop being such a fussbudget. You made the food for me, and I like it. And if you don't like yours, give it to me, I'll eat it."

Bucky gave Peter a dirty look. "Touch my food and I stab your hand with my fork."

"Careful, Peter," Steve said, "he'll do it, too. He stabbed Tony's cheeseburger once."

"He was upsetting Mama," Bucky argued. "Nobody's ever going to forgive me for that, are they?"

"'Mama'? Who's 'Mama'?" Peter asked, looking confused.

"She owns a restaurant in DC," Bucky said. "Inherited the business and the name from her grandmother, who opened the place back in the forties. Sweet woman, cute, miss her like hell. Would've asked her out, but by the time things got settled about my identity, Tony was moving us up here."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "Does she have a name?"

Bucky nodded. "She does, but she keeps it secret, so I'm not telling you."

"Then I won't ask," Peter said.

Peter insisted upon making Steve and Bucky open their gifts from him after Steve had cleared away the dinner dishes and ran the dishwasher. Since he was up, Steve fetched the two presents from under the tree and set them on the table.

"I hope you know this isn't fair," Steve said, looking at his. "I don't have anything for you at all."

"Life's not fair," Peter said. "It's not much more than a token anyway. Just open it."

Steve was fastidious about unwrapping presents; he had to unfold each one, as if the paper had to be saved to be reused. At one point in his life, it did, and it was a habit he never got out of. It was sometimes frustrating to watch.

"Oh hey, a new sketchbook," Steve said, pulling said sketchbook from the folds of perfectly unwrapped paper. "Thanks, I was needing a new one."

Bucky decided it was a good thing that he hadn't gotten one for Steve himself. Steve went through them fast sometimes, but repeat gifts were horrible, and Bucky would feel bad about having given one.

"It's not much, I wasn't sure if you needed one," Peter said. "Took a gamble. I don't know what it is you do these days."

Bucky chewed on his tongue to keep the accusation wanting to form from spitting itself out.

Peter looked like an excited kid, turning to Bucky. "Your turn, big brother. It's nothing fancy, don't think I outdid myself or anything, but I had to get you something. Seventy years of gift giving to catch up on."

Bucky made a point of picking up the package and shaking it. It didn't clatter, as he rather expected. It felt like a couple of paperbacks stacked together.

Peter gave him a tired look. "Bucky."

Bucky grinned, shrugging. "Just checking," he said, then looked at Steve. "You still don't know how to properly unwrap a gift. You're supposed to tear it."

"You're a barbarian," Steve said as Bucky ripped into the wrapping paper, leaving it in pieces on the table.

"Better than being a priss," Bucky said, examining his present. Plural, actually. The next three books in the Dresden Files, which didn't really surprise him. "I've been wanting to read the next one." He eyed his brother. "But I seem to recall someone saying I didn't get to get them for myself."

"Damn right you don't," Peter said. "Don't worry, I won't make you wait for only birthdays and Christmas, but Christmas was so close, I figured I could cheat a bit on your present. I wasn't sure what else to get you."

"That's okay," Steve said. "I had trouble finding something for him. If it's not books or guns, he's not interested."

"You could always get me a subscription to Playboy," Bucky said, not at all seriously. At the disapproving looks that earned him, he shrugged. "Just a thought."

"Okay, so books, guns, and women," Peter said. "That's not much to go on, you know."

Bucky bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, before deciding to throw his building temper tantrum because hell, why not? At least he'd be being honest. "I had less to go on for you," he said. "I don't know anything about you."

Steve immediately sat back, clearly trying to get out of the crossfire without disappearing from where he could step in if absolutely necessary. It rarely was a good idea to get between two arguing Barnes men, but sometimes there wasn't much choice.

Peter stared, mouth slightly agape, hurt apparent in those clear blue eyes that Bucky had missed so much. Of all the things that had changed, those eyes had stayed the same and Bucky almost braced himself to hear a preteen boy yell 'I'm telling Mom!' at him. What he got instead, was "that's not fair of you."

"What was that you said about life not being fair?" Bucky said. "I looked for something for you, but I know precisely three things about you. You were a Navy officer, you were with a man for over fifty years, and you go to church now. I know more about Sharon and I just met her a month ago."

"You could just ask," Peter said, clearly trying to remain the calm brother.

"I have asked," Bucky said. "I've tried to get you to talk about yourself, and you've always just told me about the family, or gotten me to talk about what's been going on in my life, with Steve and Steve's girlfriend and the Avengers. You're not the only one who's missed the last seventy years, and unlike me, you spent those years living. You've changed, and I never got to see it, never got a chance to know you." He rested his elbows on the table, his forehead in his hands. "You're not the only brother in this, you know." He took a deep breath. "And that statement goes to me, too. I kinda thought catching up would be easy." He looked down at the table, clenching his jaw. "Sorry," he finally said. "I know Steve told you earlier that it's been stressful around here, and he's right, it kinda has."

Peter leaned forward and placed his hand lightly on Bucky's flesh arm. "No, you're right," he said. "I've been so caught up in having you back that I forgot you had me back, too. With what Hydra did making you look the same as I last saw you, it's like looking at an old photograph and I suddenly forget that I'm not that kid anymore."

Bucky dropped his flesh arm onto the table, still resting his forehead on his metal hand, and patted Peter's arm. "It's fine, Peter," he said. "At your age, I expect your memory to be going." He offered his brother a lopsided smile in form of a truce.

Peter grumped at him. "You're still older." He sat back. "Is that what's really been bothering you all day?"

"Last few days, actually," Bucky said. "I tried to find a gift for you a few days ago after I got done at the shelter and couldn't even think of where to start. Walking around Manhattan didn't give me any ideas."

"I've wondered what's been wrong," Steve said. "But you never tell me anything."

Bucky shrugged weakly. "At least I'm better than I used to be about that."

"I can't deny that."

Peter studied Bucky. "You never used to be shy about saying what was on your mind."

"That was before Hydra," Bucky said. "Leave it at that."

At first, Peter didn't answer, and Bucky worried that his brother might explode from anger, looking like a lit stick of dynamite, then the tension drained out of his shoulders. "Well, I suppose we'd both best be getting to know each other, then. But you're right, there's probably more to learn about me, and I know that what there is to know about you, you won't tell me, and I think my blood pressure might thank you for that." He smiled. "So we've got another hour or so, let's not waste it."

The rest of Peter's visit went by much smoother, the three men moving their visit to the more comfortable couches- "why are we always at the table when we have nice couches?" Steve had demanded -the only pause in conversation being when Bucky remembered that he had cookies he'd baked the day before to share that had been their mother's recipe, and bagged a dozen for Peter to take home with him. And one to eat while he was there, of course.

The drive between Manhattan and Annapolis was about three and a half hours, give or take, and with Christmas traffic, closer to four was more accurate. Peter wanted to be back in time for church service, that meant being back by five, which meant Peter had to leave around one.

Peter eyed his watch as it hit about twelve forty-five. "It's almost one, my ride should be ready in a few minutes. If I want to make it to church, I suppose I'd better go." He looked like he was seriously considering changing his mind about church.

"Go get your coat on," Bucky said. "There'll be other visits. Christmas services only come once a year."

"How about I take you back?" Steve said. "I'll have JARVIS let your chauffeur know that you've got another way home. I can go to service with you."

Peter looked surprised. "That'll put you home awfully late."

Steve shrugged. "It's not like I'll be keeping him up late with worry," he said, sticking his thumb out at Bucky. "He volunteers tonight, he's going to be gone by five and not home until almost ten in the morning."

"Yeah, don't worry, I won't be sitting at home, the worrying housewife," Bucky said. "I'm going to use the opportunity to catch a nap guilt-free, since Steve's going with. I have a Christmas party to cook for tomorrow, and not a lot of time to sleep between coming home and having to start on that, so any I can get now is good."

"All right then," Peter said. He looked Steve over. "You're not planning on wearing that, are you?"

Steve looked down at himself, his decent sweatshirt and jeans. "Nope," he said, getting up. "I'll go change. Give me a minute, then we can leave."

Bucky walked Peter to the door while they waited for Steve. "Make that idiot stay there if he's too tired to drive home after service," he said to his brother.

"Of course," Peter said. "Look, I'm sorry-"

Bucky shook his head. "Don't," he said. "It's something we should've both brought up before now. We're fixing it, that's what matters." He smiled. "Hey. Merry Christmas, Peter."

Peter's clear blue eyes took on a distinct sheen, and he wrapped his arms around Bucky's shoulders. "Merry Christmas, Bucky."

Steve joined them a couple minutes later, and Bucky bid them good night. Once JARVIS told him that they'd reached the garage, Bucky took it on safe assumption that they weren't coming back up for anything and went to his room to nap before a long Christmas day.