BUCKY

After her night of vulnerability (and the morning of grumbling about her head), Indy returned to her usual self. Even though I watched for signs, she never showed the tiniest sliver of that sadness I’d seen bathed in the blue light of her alarm clock. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever forget the questions she’d asked me that night. Some nights, when I couldn’t sleep, I thought about the answers to them. They never came to me, but pondering gave me something to do when nightmares kept me from resting.

Kate and Yelena returned from their girls’ trip with presents from abroad already purchased for Christmas. If not for Indy’s frighteningly boozy surprise decorating, that might have been the first time I realized we were in December and approaching a major holiday. As it was, I was already mostly done with Christmas shopping.

Sam and Indy were behind and took to shopping together for most of a week. It felt strange to be on the outside around them; they kept coming back laughing together over some inside story they wouldn’t expound on. It was irritating, but I wasn’t going to say anything about it.

One quiet day, Kate came into the compound with a drink carrier full of cups and news that a “cute new cafe” had opened. She immediately handed a cup to Sam, who had been standing in the kitchen already, then handed one across the counter to Yelena.

“Indy, Bucky! Come try these, they taste like Christmas!” she beamed, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet with her hands wrapped around her own cup.

I pushed up from my seat at the dining table and saw Indy slip a bookmark into her book as she stood from the couch in the living room.

“You mean like cinnamon and disappointment?” Indy asked with a grin, reaching for a cup of her own.

Sam chuckled and Kate gave her a dry eye roll. But Yelena and I glanced sharply at her and then at each other. We’d both heard the undercurrent of genuine bitterness in her voice no one else seemed to have noticed.

So maybe there was one small sign. But mostly, she kept it locked up as well as - if not better than - I did. I was pretty much boiling in curiosity. I knew she had been close with Tony, so it made sense that she would be sad over his death, but… I got the sense it wasn’t him she was so torn up over.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized just how little I actually knew about Indy. I knew her favorite brand of coffee, what kind of music she liked to listen to, the fact that she liked coconut everything. But I didn’t know the things about her that made her who she was. I knew about the families and pasts of the others, but it was starting to hit me just how slippery Indy was when those conversations came up. She always managed to quip the questions away from herself.

The closest she’d come to divulging her “back story”, as Kate had termed it, was telling us about how she had worked for Tony Stark since she was a teenager and stuck with him until she got to where she was today. Sam had interjected then.

“You didn’t always stick with Tony. There was that one time-” he pointed at her slyly from across the table we’d all been drinking at.

“Yeah, let’s not go into that,” she said ruefully, grimacing.

Sam didn’t say anything else, but he had looked over at me like I was supposed to have understood something about the whole exchange.

And then, suddenly, Christmas was upon us. Kate woke us all up at sunrise like a five-year-old. Her fist pounding on my bedroom door woke me from the solid 3 hours I had managed to get.

“Buckyyy! Wake up, it’s Christmas!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” I groaned, pulling a T-shirt on as I stumbled toward the door, yawning.

I met Sam in the hallway, and when we exited into the kitchen/dining area, we saw Indy already up and pouring out mugs of coffee. She looked tired, but she shot us both smiles as she slid two mugs over the counter to us.

“Merry Christmas, boys,” she said, sipping her own coffee as we all went into the living room.

Brightly wrapped presents were piled up beneath the tree, white lights glinting off ribbons and tinsel. Yelena was sitting cross-legged near it, apparently pinpointing whose gifts were whose.

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” Sam grunted, plopping into a chair before being hit in the stomach with a package Yelena threw at him.

“That’s from me,” Kate said proudly, tossing another to Indy.

Gifts were airborne for a solid few minutes before shreds of wrapping paper started flying.

I’d gotten a set of knives from Yelena, a weird little… potato-man-thing (?) from Kate that lit up when I squeezed him, and a new bike jacket from Indy. When I unrolled a poster of a map of Middle Earth, Sam mouthed, “Wizards,” at me with a smug grin.

A while later, we were all lounging around, chatting. Sam was chuckling at his own wit over giving Indy a mug that declared her the “World’s Okayest Boss” when Kate said, “Hey, I think there’s still one back there.”

She leaned over and pulled a square package from the back of the tree.

“Ah, yeah,” I said, recognizing it easily by the shiny green wrapping I had chosen. “That’s for Indy.”

Her eyebrows lifted for a moment as she took it from Kate. I chewed the inside of my lip. I hadn’t banked on so much attention being on this one specific gift. Sam nudged me with his elbow, but I wasn’t about to indulge him by looking over.

I sipped my coffee and watched as she pulled the seams of the paper apart, then froze, staring down at the book inside with a blank face. I shifted nervously when everyone looked back at me.

Her fingers shook lightly as she reached down to pick it up. It was a collector’s omnibus edition of some 80s fantasy series she had mentioned in passing the night we’d bonded over chocolate chip cookies. I had gotten incredibly lucky and found it in a bookshop a few weeks before.

She lifted the dark leather cover and ran her hand delicately over the sketch of a dragon on the copyright page, the corner of her mouth quirking up.

When she looked up at me from across the room, I could see tears glimmering in her eyes. I think we were all equally shocked. I suddenly wished I could remember exactly what it was she had told me about that book series. Could I have misremembered? Did she hate it?

But then she was standing up, walking over with her lips pressed tightly together. She stopped in front of me and leaned down to wrap her arms around my shoulders. The silence in the room was oppressive, and I was pretty sure my mouth was hanging open, but I forced my free arm to move, returning the hug as best I could in a seated position. When she withdrew, she kept one hand on my shoulder, the other still clutching the book to her chest.

“Thank you, Buck.”

I cleared my throat and nodded. “Yeah. Of course.”

She turned around and moved back over toward the couch, the other girls leaning over to check out the stenciled impressions on the leather cover. She seemed… happy. It lightened something inside me. I’d been worried since the night she’d gotten drunk and bawled over something she still wouldn’t talk about.

I didn’t realize I was starting to smile until a second nudge from Sam almost made me spill my coffee. I cut my eyes at him, wiping my palm off on my pant leg.

“So she’s allowed to call you Buck?”

I shook my head, bringing my mug back to my mouth. “Shut up.”

He didn’t say anything else, but the looks he kept throwing between Indy and I was loud enough that I had to frown deeply at him multiple times before any of the girls started thinking something was going on.

After the wrapping paper and packaging was all cleared away, we all split off to do our own things. Indy, with the book still tucked into her arm, gave me another smile before turning to go to her office. She’d smiled at me before. Plenty of times, but it had never… hit her eyes the way it did then. I had to wonder for the rest of the day why my face felt so damn warm.

INDY

I angled the book slightly on the shelf in my office, letting the cover face outward, displaying the beautiful leather and swirling impressions.

“How did he find this? I didn’t even know they made an omnibus for it,” I muttered to myself, chuckling as I stepped back to admire it. The space next to it looked oddly empty now. I put a finger to my chin and considered… Maybe it was time.

I kept my father’s picture in my desk. It wasn’t something I liked to have around, in case people asked about him. I wasn’t good at talking about my childhood without crying. And everyone knew how I felt about crying in front of people. It was bad enough Bucky’s gift had nearly broken me down on Christmas morning. I’d been able to force the emotion back by hiding my face in his shoulder as I’d hugged him, but the gratitude remained.

I kneeled next to my desk and opened the bottom drawer, withdrawing a framed picture. I sighed, annoyed that my vision was already becoming blurry again. But, through the few tears that were trying to escape, I could see a familiar face. Thin, but angular, with brown eyes behind wire-framed glasses. His smile dimpled his chin just the way mine did, and his hair, while short, had the same thick texture as mine. In the picture, a tiny, 6-year-old me stood next to him, both of us holding onto a spool of kite string.

I stood and carefully set the picture next to the book. My worn out original copies from the 80s sat on the shelf just below. They had originally belonged to Dad, and when he died and Mom had begun scraping out every trace of my father’s existence from our lives, I’d had to rescue them and stash them away. I’d read and reread them over the years, hoping to absorb whatever wisp of him may have remained in the pages of his favorite books.

He’d sat in my desk for a long time. It felt right to have him back out, sitting next to that gorgeous binding of the stories we’d both loved.

“Merry Christmas, Dad.”

A Few Days Later

Snow crunched beneath our feet as the five of us made our way down the crowded sidewalk. New York City in winter is beautiful, aggravating, and so damn cold. But, Kate had dragged us all out of the compound to soak up the last of the holiday lights and decorations before the city went back to its usual mundanity.

So we were all jacketed up and attempting to stick together through the crowds that seemed to increase as we walked. Kate, Yelena, and I walked arm-in-arm, with Sam and Bucky just a step or two behind us, hands in their pockets.

Sounds of car horns and heavy chatter persisted until Kate excitedly turned our group into Washington Square Park. The fountain was iced over and everything was coated in a thick layer of snow. The tree beneath the huge stone arch was lit up with gold all the way to the top.

Normally, it was pretty quiet here, but people milled around everywhere today. Kids building snowmen, old couples sitting on frozen benches with flannel blankets over their laps, teens on dates peeking shyly at each other from above their scarves, groups of friends and families laughing and enjoying the still winter air.

“This is what we need,” Kate said, tugging us all toward a temporarily erected booth where hot chocolate, coffee, and snacks were being sold. “You guys find a decent place to sit. Yelena and I will get us all some stuff and find you.”

“We will?” Yelena asked, cocking an eyebrow at Kate, even as she let my arm drop.

“Yep,” Kate said obliviously, pulling Yelena toward the vendor.

Sam, Bucky, and I watched them go for a moment before turning to each other with somewhat lost expressions.

“What does she consider a ‘decent place to sit’?” Sam asked, looking around at the small swarms of people like one of them might point the way.

Bucky, too, looked around, but his shoulders were around his ears like he thought someone was about to scream his pseudo-identity and all of its crimes to the world. His eyes flitted nervously from person to person.

Sam glanced over at him and frowned, then looked at me and gave me a mischievous smile. “Alright, since I’m such a wonderful guy, I’m giving you two your out.”

Bucky and I furrowed our eyebrows at each other, then at Sam. What the hell was he talking about?

“Get yourselves out of here,” he said, starting to back away from us. “I’ll find a bench or something and handle Kate and Yelena. You two save yourselves.”

“What is he expecting us to do?” I asked, watching his retreat.

Bucky didn’t respond, instead reverting back to looking about as uncomfortable as possible in the midst of so many people. Sam hadn’t given us an out. He’d given it to Bucky. He’d probably roped me into it so our resident super soldier didn’t have to wander off alone.

“Well, if we’re getting out of here, we’d better move,” I said, hooking my arm through his and turning us in the opposite direction.

He looked down at me in shock, but allowed me to pull him along. “Where are we going?”

Until he asked, I didn’t have a clue. But the answer came before we’d hailed a cab.

“75 Christopher Street, please,” I said to the driver as we slid into the back seat.

“What’s at 75 Christopher Street?” Bucky asked, finally relaxing now that we were away from all the hubbub of the park.

I grinned over at him. “Don’t worry, Sarge, it’ll be fun.”

He chuckled through his nose, shaking his head at me. “That’s what Kate said about the park.” There was a long space of quiet before he asked. “Why do you call me that?”

“What? Sarge?”

He nodded, blue eyes narrowing.

“Are you forgetting that your early adulthood is considered a part of the core curriculum nowadays?” I smirked. “You may be Bucky to me now, but when I was a kid, you were Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, Howling Commando and American hero.”

Several things passed over his face at once. Surprise. Nostalgia. Pain. Sorrow. Finally, he settled on something gentle, something like affection.

“More recently, I’ve been worse things,” he said softly.

My mouth twitched downward. “Maybe so… but since then, you’ve worked your ass off to fix it.”

He looked like he was going to say something else, but our straight shot south on 7th Avenue hadn’t taken long. I passed the cab driver his money and exited the car, standing on the sidewalk outside a brick building with a set of glass double doors beneath the words “Cellar Dog”.

I looked up at Bucky in excitement, but he looked down at me dryly, like he thought I’d dragged him to a face painting event or something.

I rolled my eyes and grabbed him by the back of his metal arm, pulling him toward the doors. “Oh, come on, Bucky. A little fun won’t kill you.”

It wasn’t busy inside, unless you counted the black, white, and red murals that covered each inch of wall space. A long bar dominated most of one wall, with tables scattered around. Rows of pools tables, shuffleboard tables, ping-pong tables, foosball tables, and pinball machines made lanes across the black-and-white checkered tile floor. A small jazz band played on the short stage in front of what looked like re-purposed church pews.

A couple of bartenders chatted idly behind the bar, tossing tumblers in the air and catching them with ease. Small groups of chattering people dotted the room, all absorbed in their own games and conversations. I saw a game of poker being played between one group, Jenga at another, and some form of trivia at a third.

“What are we doing here?” Bucky asked with curiosity, glancing around in that familiar way he always did, as if he were mentally bookmarking every potential exit he could make.

“Is it not obvious from all the games and alcohol?” I asked, pulling him with me toward a foosball table. “We’re goofing off. Why don’t you go get us some drinks and I’ll get us ready for me to kick your ass.”

He grinned crookedly despite himself and shook his head, turning away to walk toward the bar. I noticed a couple of girls at a table full of college-age kids turn and watch him with red cheeks as he went by. I bit my lip to fight a smile.

BUCKY

Indy was… really terrible at foosball. She was a little better at pool, but not by much. It didn’t seem to bother her at all. She’d simply shrug and laugh it off, sipping her beer and seemingly thoroughly enjoying eating her own threats of kicking my ass.

She leaned on her pool stick across the table from me, both of our jackets tossed over the backs of nearby chairs.

The flower tattoo she’d told me about those few months ago peeked out from under the low-cut back of her loose navy shirt whenever she circled the table in front of me. I could only see the edges of a couple of petals. They looked like they belonged to a lily, but I could’ve been wrong; I’m no floral expert and most of the tattoo was covered.

“Your tattoo,” I said after pocketing the striped number 14 ball. “When did you get it?”

She rolled her eyes as she lined up her next shot with a self-deprecating grin. “When I was in college. The other girls in our dorm were getting them. And I succumbed to peer pressure.”

She hit the cue and sent it spinning off against the perpendicular side of the table, barely brushing up against my striped 9 ball.

“How about you, Sarge? Any war ink?” She winked as she lifted her beer to her mouth for another drink.

“No,” I said quietly, eyeing her as memories surface at the mention of the war. “No, none on me.”

What would the guys back then have thought of this girl in front of me?

I don’t know where the thought came from. There was no point in thinking about it. But once it was there, I couldn’t stop my train of thought from rolling off the rails with it.

She was stubborn. Empathetic. Capable. Funny. Intelligent. Free-spirited. Dependable. She gave when she didn’t need to and refused to offload her own stress onto anyone else - to her own detriment, I worried. All of this in the package of a smirking, late-20’s computer nerd who stood a full foot shorter than me and probably couldn’t hurt a teddy bear.

They’d have loved her. Dum Dum, especially.

She was a comfortable person to be around. Hell, she was so easy-going in nature that even I had clearly grown a soft spot for her, even if I still couldn’t quite wrap my mind around all the ways she’d so clearly dismissed the type of danger and risk I represented in the eyes of everyone else. She’d stuck up for me, subtly shielded me from discomfort… she’d taken care of me.

The thought hit me with such force that I had to blink a few times in the dim lighting of the cellar. There was a squirrelly, flittery feeling in my stomach that I hadn’t felt in what may have actually been lifetimes.

Her full lips - have they always been so… pouty?- went from grinning to frowning in concern. She shifted forward, the white light over the pool table catching in her eyes.

“You alright, Buck?”

I swallowed hard, hoping that would somehow stop the flopping around my heart seemed to be doing. There it was again.

Buck.

She said it just like she said Sarge - unhesitatingly, unthinkingly. Like the Winter Soldier had never existed. What was this girl doing to me?

“Yeah,” I said, shaking myself out of whatever the hell had dragged me into deep thought mid-pool game. “Sorry. Didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”

It wasn’t a lie, which I thought was good. Unfortunately, as she always did, she heard more than I said. Her hazel eyes were amber in this light, and they tightened knowingly.

I’d never talked about my nightmares with her. But she knew. She never said as much out loud, but sometimes she said things… things that left no doubt in my mind that she understood a lot more about trauma than she was letting on. Like nightmares.

I cleared my throat and approached the table, feeling oddly stiff. “My shot?”

She nodded and smoothly wiped the concern from her face, but continued to watch me closely. Not helpful when I was still reeling over my sudden onslaught of admiration for her. I hit the cue slightly off-center and missed my next shot.

“You’re losin’ it, Sarge,” she said pityingly, shaking her head dramatically and sighing.

I couldn’t help but laugh through the awkwardness I was feeling before; like she could really talk when I had a five ball lead on her!

“How do you know I’m not just taking it easy on you?” I smiled fully at her, tilting my head back, before I realized what I was doing. Was I… Was I flirting with her?

“Oh, because you don’t do that,” she answered immediately, giving me a sarcastic look. “And besides-”

She surprised me by hopping up onto the edge of the table and leaning sideways to line up the cue ball with… nothing. I watched with an indulgent expression as she struck the cue with a much firmer stroke than her previous shots. It slammed into the wall ahead of it, ricocheted off the corner of a middle pocket and hit dead between two solid balls. The purple ball spun into the closest pocket, the red rolling slowly toward the furthest corner.

There’s no way…

But even gaping in disbelief wasn’t enough to stop the red ball from sinking into the pocket. I swiveled my gaze back to her, still seated on the edge of the pool table, one leg now crossed over the other in self-satisfaction. She smiled cockily.

“I’m the one taking it easy on you.”

God help me.

My phone buzzing in my pocket kind of saved my ass, because I was about to just stand there staring at her like a moron. I pulled it out and balked at the 53 missed texts from Kate. They ranged from threats to lock us out of the compound if we had actually ditched them (which was laughable considering Indy maintained the security protocols) to transparently pity seeking, blaming us for her broken heart like some jilted mother.

“Well, I guess game time’s over,” Indy sighed when I told her, tossing my jacket to me before putting her own on. She chuckled then, clearly still enjoying my shock at her deception - and skill. “Just when it was getting good.”

And even though it gave me an unexplainable sense of guilt, some part of me that I compulsively wanted to snuff out eagerly agreed with her.