Grade A American Beef

What exactly is the standard operating procedure when confronted with waking up next to a super soldier, ex Hydra assassin, and all around excruciatingly beautiful man? Darcy’s personal response to the situation was to roll back over and pretend like it wasn’t happening because it was just too damn early and she was trying to be a decent sort of person that didn’t take advantage of people in their sleep. She was trying, despite her deepest desires, to be a good person. Her altruism was made all the more difficult because someone was apparently both a blanket thief and a heat seeking missile. She would scooch a few inches to her right, creating just a smidgen of space, and Bucky would follow her right across the mattress, arms and legs creeping around her like vines. Really sexy, muscley vines.

She had made her way to the edge of the mattress and was teetering there, valiantly determined to not get grabby and reach out to Barnes for “balance,” when Bucky’s metal hand slipped under her shirt, flexing over her rib cage and brushing the underside of her breast. Darcy gave a startled yelp and lost her battle with balance, tilting over the edge of the mattress and falling the scant few inches to the floor.

Bucky’s eyes popped open in alarm, which only heightened when he witnessed Darcy staring up at him in disarray, her mouth and eyes wide, and his hand up her goddamn shirt. What the hell?!

Bucky jerked his hand back, embarrassment and shame clogging up his throat. What was wrong with him? First he nearly killed her last night and now he was practically assaulting her in his sleep? Panic rose in his chest; he needed to get out of there and fast.

He tried to stammer out an apology as he leapt out of the bed, grabbing at random bits of clothing from his suitcase and making a hasty retreat to the bathroom down the hall. He flexed the fingers of his left hand and tried very hard not to commit the sensory data of Darcy’s soft skin to memory. Intimate knowledge not freely given was knowledge undeserved.

Darcy lay there in a daze, ass and torso still on the floor with her legs propped on the edge of the bed. What the hell had just happened? She should definitely not have yelped. Or fallen off. She should have been cool about Bucky and the Traveling Hand of Sexy. It wasn’t like it was unwanted. Sure, she would have preferred he’d been conscious and that soulful intensity focused on her while his hand slowly slid under her-

Stop that. Focus.

Right, it wasn’t unwanted, she would have preferred a conscious decision--but not a big deal because she was super into it, just a bit surprised and, um, chilly. He’d looked so horrified when he’d fled from the room, like he’d just been told he was responsible for assassinating Santa Claus. She’d have to talk to him when he got out of the shower. Let him know that she wasn’t offended or felt violated. Just surprised, maybe a little turned on, but no harm done. She was cool. It was cool. Super cool.

Darcy rolled to her knees with a groan, rising up to get dressed and start her day. She waited for Bucky to return from the shower but when twenty minutes passed and there was still no sign of the man, Darcy decided the conversation could wait until after breakfast.

She made her way to the kitchen and was greeted by her father, who was slicing up thick strips of bacon to go into the skillet. She pressed a kiss into his cheek and started pulling ingredients for pancakes out of the fridge and pantry. They worked silently together--neither one of them were morning people--and sipped on their respective cups of coffee as they saw to breakfast. They were soon joined by Rob, and then a little later by Angie and Violet. Pancakes and bacon were served and eaten, but still there was no sign of Bucky. She’d heard him exit the bathroom while she was making the pancake batter, but he’d gone to their room and not yet reappeared. Having finished her own breakfast, and running low on patience, Darcy padded to their room on bare feet. She knocked lightly on the door, waiting this time for an invitation before she popped her head in.

“Good morning, Bucky,” she said brightly. “There’s pancakes and bacon waiting in the kitchen whenever you’re ready.”

Bucky, who was curled up on his bed and scribbling in a notebook, gave her a sullen grunt.

“Not hungry,” he said, not even bothering to look up at her. Well, looked like Broody Bucky was on the menu for the day.

“Yeah, um, oookay. Well, if you change your mind…”

Bucky hunched his shoulders up, nodded at his notebook, and continued to ignore her. Darcy resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“Um, about this morning,” she started. Bucky flinched but she kept going. Rip it off like a bandaid, right? “So, I’m not mad about...that. I know you didn’t do it on purpose. And I know last night wasn’t on purpose either.” She bit her lip and rubbed her palms nervously over the front of her thighs. Bucky still wouldn’t look at her and only seemed to curl into himself tighter.

This is going wonderfully, she thought.

“Okay, so, I’ll leave you alone to do...whatever it is that you’re doing.” She didn’t wait for his response, closing the door behind her and heading back to the kitchen to rejoin her family.

Angie, in a characteristically observant move, caught sight of the look on her face and pulled her into a corner to question her.

“Is everything ok, Darce?”

“Yeah,” Darcy sighed. “Bucky’s just a little moody today for, uh, reasons. I’m going to let him brood for another hour or so, but if he doesn’t come join us after that I’m gonna go snap him out of it.”

Angie’s eyes danced with amusement. “Oh? And how do you plan on doing that?” she asked.

Darcy chewed on her lower lip, eyes bouncing around the room in indecision until they landed on the snow piled up on the kitchen window pane. A wolfish grin lit up her face at the sight.

“Did it snow last night?”

Angie’s forehead scrunched in confusion at the non sequitur. “Yes. We got four inches of fresh powder. Why do you ask?”

Darcy smirked. “You’ll see.”

***

It had been exactly an hour and a half since Darcy’s conversation with her sister. She knew, she’d timed it. And yet Bucky still hadn’t shown his face.

What was a girl to do when her handsome roommate/potential romantic endeavor wouldn’t come out of his bedroom and was missing out on all the Christmas Eve fun?

Get angry?

No. She got creative.

Which was how Darcy found herself creeping down the hallway trying to sneak up on a super powered individual, armed only with a slowly melting ball of snow gripped in her gloved hands. She’d reached the bedroom door and was debating whether or not knocking was required and if that would be enough to ruin all her hard work being stealthy. The decision was taken away from her when Bucky called out to her from behind the door, telling her she could come in and that he was decent.

Yeah right, she thought. He could be dressed head to toe in a damn hazmat suit and still be considered indecent.

She tucked the snowball behind her back and eased the door open, peeking in to check out the enemy terrain. Bucky was still sitting in bed--reading this time--but still refusing to look at her.

Excellent... That way he wouldn’t see when she-

Darcy bit her lip, flicked her arm out, and let the snowball fly. It smacked Barnes in the face with a satisfyingly wet plop, and then dripped down the front of his hoodie and jeans. His head snapped up, mouth open in shock, as Darcy bent double in laughter. When she heard his book hit the bed with an ominous thud, she looked back up to see he had brushed the snow from his pants and was slowly unfolding himself from the bed.

The menacing smile on his face and the tension in his body sent both her libido and her fight or flight response into high gear. She should probably talk to a therapist about that. But right then she was too busy hauling ass to think too deeply on her potential kinks.

Darcy raced back down the hallway with Bucky’s heavy footsteps hot on her heels. She skidded around a corner and busted out the front door and down the porch steps before Bucky finally caught up to her. He tossed her to the ground, scooping up handfuls of snow and rubbing them into her face and hair.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, Lewis. Rule number one of war, sweetheart,” he crowed with glee, shoving another handful of snow down the back of her shirt.

Darcy squealed and twisted away from him, taking off across the yard and scooping up her own ammunition, turning to hurl snowball after snowball in Barnes direction. “What makes you think I can’t finish this?” she shouted out to him, hurling another well aimed snowball for emphasis. He dove behind the dogwood tree in the front yard, dodging her aim and started rapid firing snowballs back at her.

Darcy leapt and slid, trying to make her way to some form of cover. Eventually she made it to the brick mailbox and entrenched herself, scooping up snow and lobbing it over her head at random. Snowballs kept sailing over her head and landing inches from her or splatting along the edge of the mailbox. When the onslaught of snowballs died off suddenly, Darcy became suspicious. She peeked around the corner to see Barnes sneaking around from the side, intent on circling around and coming at her from the right.

We’ll see about that, Buck-o.

Darcy made a break for it, darting out to claim the dogwood he’d just vacated. She was halfway there when a snowball fired from his metal arm caught her right in the eye.

Shit, that stings.

She stumbled, going to her knees and covering her eye with her hand. She looked up to see Bucky struck with horror and followed by instant remorse. Good, time to use her acting skills to crush the enemy. She gave a small whimper and the next thing she knew Bucky was kneeling beside her, hands hovering uncertainly over her.

“Darcy! I’m so sorry! Are you ok? Shit, doll, let me look at it.” His blue eyes burned with concern and Darcy almost felt guilty about playing him. Almost. All’s fair in love and war, right?

Darcy gave a (fake) sniffle and nodded at him, allowing him to draw her hands away from her face so he could examine her “injury.” She oh-so-casually reached her left hand out to lightly grasp his belt loop, pretending to use it to steady herself in the snow. He didn’t seem to notice, too intent on examining the state of her eye. Perfect.

She slowly dipped her other hand into the snow near her knees, and then, fast as she could, pulled his waistband out and shoved the handful of snow down the front of his pants.

Oh, would you look at that. The commando went commando, how fitting. And convenient. For snow wars purposes. Nothing else.

Bucky let loose a startled shout, scuttling back from her in a crab walk before jumping to his feet and doing what looked like an ants-in-your-pants dance, wiggling his hips and legs in order to move the snow to less sensitive places.

Could someone asphyxiate from laughing too hard? Darcy thought she might be about to find out. She was bent over in the snow, completely losing her shit.

“YOU!”

Uh-oh. Darcy sobered up real fast at Bucky’s tone. The look he was giving her screamed pure vengeance and he was coming for blood.

Darcy leapt to her feet, sprinting across the yard as fast as her legs could carry her, which wasn’t nearly fast enough because Barnes was able to dart around her, coming at her from the front. He lowered his shoulder like a linebacker, scooping her up by the legs and tossing her over his shoulders before she could even turn and switch directions.

“Hey!” she shouted, the blood rushing to her brain making her slightly lightheaded. “Put me down, Barnes!” Darcy squirmed, kicking her legs as best she could.

Bucky didn’t say anything, just hitched her more firmly up his shoulder and tightened his grip on her legs. Her nose bumped painfully against his backside at her wiggling. His perfect, firm, round backside that was just begging for someone to sink their teeth into-

“OUch! Lewis, did you just bite my ass?!”

Darcy broke out into wicked giggles, but choked off when she felt Barnes reach up to swat at one of her butt cheeks and then felt the sharp sting of a recipricatory bite on the other cheek.

“Hey! That hurts!”

Bucky made a growling noise in his throat and Darcy felt the pressure of his teeth sink just a little further into her ass cheek. Oh! That bastard. She began wiggling, trying to break his hold on her, but was unsuccessful. She guessed it was time to fight dirty then, if that’s how he was going to play it.

Darcy reached both hands up to attack the tickle spot on his ribs with abandon. Bucky immediately dropped his hold on her to protect his sides, only for Darcy to slide to the ground with a solid thump.

She looked up at him a bit dazed, wiping snow from her face and hair, and then they both seemed to snap back into action at the same moment. She tried to scramble to her feet, almost getting off the ground, but fell to her belly when Bucky dove and gripped her ankle in his hand.

She twisted in his grip, leaning back on her elbows to assess the situation. Any way she looked at it, it was obvious that she was losing. Badly.

“You,” Bucky growled at her, slowly crawling his way up her body, “are trouble.” The length of his body pressed her heavily into the snow and she could feel the cold dampness starting to sink into her clothes. She was surprisingly very warm despite that.

Bucky was practically nose to nose with her, their breath misting and mingling in the frigid air. Something devious took over her brain and she bit her lower lip, looking up into his eyes.

“Am I?” she asked breathlessly, and then slowly rolled her hips up against his.

She watched closely as the blue of his eyes receded in favor of the pitch black of his pupils. A barely-there “fuck” fell from his lips, and Darcy was certain he wasn’t even aware that he’d spoken. A girl could really get used to that kind of power. Just call her Empress Darcy, Dictator Supreme.

That would have been the absolute perfect time for him to kiss her.

Come on, Bucky, you can do it, she urged him silently. Make a dishonest woman out of me.

She held her breath in anticipation, their eyes locked together, both waiting for the other to make just the slightest move towards the other. She was about three seconds away from breaking her promise and pulling him down to her when a male throat was cleared from the vicinity of the front porch.

“Darcy, Sergeant Barnes, you’re both a bit underdressed to be playing in the snow, don’t you think?” Paul Lewis crossed his arms over his belly, shooting Bucky a stern glance.

Father, nooooo!

Bucky immediately jumped off her, looking like he'd been caught with his pants down with the farmer’s daughter. Well, mechanic's daughter.

“Yes, sir, Mr. Lewis,” Bucky sputtered, keeping his eyes low and skirting around her father into the safety of the house. As soon as Bucky was out of range, Paul’s look of consternation melted into one of uninhibited glee.

Darcy narrowed her eyes at her father. “You did that on purpose,” she said, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

“Yep,” her father replied, popping the “p” at the end of the word and rocking back and forth on his heels. For a an old man, her father was as much of a little shit as she was.

“Paul Lewis, how dare you, you wicked old man!”

“Oh come on, Darcy! There's only so many opportunities I have left to mess with potential suitors.” Darcy groaned at the use of the word “suitors,” sinking back into the snow. “Besides, when am I ever going to get the chance to mess with a national icon again? Let me enjoy my old age, dammit!”

“I thought you wanted my love life to flourish, father dearest. Weren't you un-subtly hinting at wanting more grandkids the last time you called me? Hmm?”

Paul's attention perked up at that. “You planning on having Barnes’ kids sometime soon?”

Darcy growled and rolled up from the ground, brushing snow off her backside. “No. Not at the moment,” she replied delicately. “But I wouldn't mind practicing.”

Her father clapped his hands over his ears. “I'm gonna pretend like I didn't hear that.”

Darcy patted him on the back and took him by the elbow to lead him inside. “Yeah, that's probably for the best.”

***

Bucky spent the rest of the day vacillating between shooting Darcy heated glances and avoiding eye contact with her father at all costs. Her father, the butthead, took great pleasure in pretending he was harboring a grudge against Bucky, giving the poor man some of the wickedest glares she’d ever seen from her father. When Bucky made to sit next to her on the couch after dinner, the look he shot Bucky was hard enough that it prompted the other man into an about face, sending him retreating back down the hall towards the bedrooms.

Angie watched the entire interlude with suspicious eyes. Setting down the book she’d been reading, she turned to her father. “Daddy, what the hell is wrong with you?” she asked sweetly.

“He’s an asshole, that’s what’s wrong with him,” Darcy growled between gritted teeth, arms crossed furiously in front of her chest.

Paul Lewis laughed in the face of his daughters’ ire. He cared not one whit. He was having the time of his life torturing that poor boy.

“Dad,” Angie scolded, “you’re gonna give the guy a complex. Another one!”

Paul sobered somewhat at the thought. “You think so?”

“Yes,” hissed Darcy. “Between you and Angie, you are going to ruin him! Don’t you like him? Hmm? Don’t you want him to come back and visit?” She glared at her family members. “Honestly, you should both be ashamed of yourselves.”

Her father and sister exchanged matching looks of guilt. Darcy glanced over at her brother-in-law, who was absentmindedly sketching in his notebook with one hand and contentedly stroking Violet’s tummy with the other. “Rob, you’re the only decent person in this family.”

“I know,” came his toneless reply. She’d told him many times before.

“What about Violet?” Angie asked with some affront.

“When she stops shitting her pants and throwing up on people, she will be considered fully decent. Besides, I can’t make a full judgement of her decency until she’s talking.” Angie shrugged and made a “fair enough” face.

Turning back to her father, “Dad, seriously though, I think you’re hurting his feelings. You need to stop dicking around and go apologize, ok?”

Paul sighed, “You’re right, darlin’. I’ll go make nice.” He extricated himself from the couch, bending to kiss his younger daughter on the top of her head.

Such a smart girl. Kind, too. Like her mother.

“Thank you,” she replied, relief saturating the words.

***

Bucky was reading on his bed when he heard Mr. Lewis’ slow trod coming down the hallway. He winced just thinking about the man and the way he’d caught him practically defiling his daughter in the front yard, in front of God and everybody. No wonder the man seemed to despise him now. He was a good father, he wouldn’t be ok with his daughter fraternizing with a previously brainwashed assassin with an astronomically high kill count.

When Mr. Lewis’ footsteps stopped outside his door and there came a soft knocking, Bucky’s stomach swooped and pinched uncomfortably. The man was obviously here to set him straight and tell him to stay the hell away from his daughter. Bucky wasn’t going to, but he really wanted the other man’s goodwill and trust. He wasn’t looking forward to becoming an outcast to the Lewis family. There was little he could do other than face the music, so he called for the other man to come in.

Instead of the hateful expression Mr. Lewis had been wearing all day, the look on his face was...embarrassed? Guilty? Some combination of the two. It filled Bucky with apprehension and sent his senses into a higher awareness. He began involuntarily collecting sensory input from around him--the sound of Paul’s shoes on the carpet, Violet snuffling in her sleep from the living room. He could smell Paul’s deodorant and the remnants of dinner on his breath. His eyes caught each tick of movement from the other man’s body, the light seeming to sharpen in the room and time slowing as he absorbed everything.

“Son, listen, I’ve come to apologize.”

Wait, what? And just like that his brain snapped back into place and started comprehending at a normal rate of awareness. Well, normal for him.

“Did you...did you hear me?”

What? Oh, yeah, he was supposed to respond. “I, yeah, um, but...what? Why are you apologizing?” he stuttered.

Mr. Lewis sighed and came to sit opposite him on the bed, hopping a bit on his short legs to reach the mattress. “I know you think I’m angry at you because of whatever it is that’s going on between you and Darcy--no, don’t interrupt, I’m not blind. I can see there’s something there. Whether or not you’ve acted on it is another matter, in any case it’s none of my business--but what I’m trying to say here, is that I’ve only been pulling your leg today. I’m not really angry, I was just being an asshole and playing a little joke on you.”

“So you’re not mad...at me?”

“No.”

“You’re not here to tell me to stay away from your daughter?”

Paul threw his head back and roared with laughter. “Oh, son, if you think I have a say in who that woman does or does not spend her time with, then you’re not as smart as I thought you were. Have you met Darcy? Nobody tells that girl what to do. I learned that lesson a long time ago.” Sobering, he added, “And I also learned to trust her judgement. Her and her sister’s, both. Those girls have a sixth sense about things, about people. And I trust them both implicitly. Besides, even if she hadn’t already given you her seal of approval, it’s easy to tell you’re a good man, Barnes. A bit tattered at the edges, maybe, but you got a good heart.” Paul reached one of his meaty paws out to clasp Bucky on the shoulder.  

At the touch and the look in Paul’s eyes, Bucky was suddenly reminded of his own father, and it touched on some tender part inside of him that would always be the small boy seeking the love and approval of his father. He couldn’t help the tears that welled up in his eyes then.

Paul, though he’d never had a son of his own, took the tears in stride. He was a man prone to crying himself and never could understand why so many men felt it to be a shameful thing. Though shorter and stouter than Sergeant Barnes, he tucked the other man into his side as he had many times to his own children when they needed comforting. Bucky seemed to crave the embrace, the poor kid. How long had it been since another man had shown him this kind of kindness, he wondered. Maybe not since he was a boy.

Paul suddenly felt like a real schmuck for the way he’d treated Bucky all day, and told the kid as much. Bucky laughed wetly and assured him it was alright.

He really was a good man. And a good match for Darcy. Paul certainly wouldn’t be averse to having a World War II hero and an Avenger as his son-in-law. Just think of how his poker buddies would react when they found out.

Paul pulled out of the embrace, thumping Bucky on the back as he went. “Well, now that that’s all taken care of, how would you feel about joining me for Midnight Mass tonight?”

Bucky tilted his head in shock. “You’re Catholic? Darcy never mentioned that.”

“Yeah, Irish Catholic. Tried to raise the girls that way too, I don’t think much of it stuck though.” Paul gave a helpless shrug.

“I, yeah, I’d love that.” Bucky beamed at the seemingly older man. It had been so long since he’d even stepped foot inside a church...but as a boy and young man, his family had always gone to Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve. When he was little, being woken up in the middle of the night had been a bit of an adventure, mixed with the anticipation of what Christmas morning would bring. The memories were fond and the idea of going with Paul filled him with a lovely, wholesome kind of excitement again.

Paul smiled back at him and impulsively reached out to ruffle Bucky’s hair before hopping off the mattress. “Alright, well I’m not as young as I used to be. I’m going to take a nap until it’s time to go, otherwise I’ll be getting rapped on the knuckles by one of the little old ladies for falling asleep.”

Bucky laughed, memories of his own knuckles being abused for the very same reason floating to the front of his mind. It was nice to know that some things never changed.

“We’ll leave at 11:15 so we can get good seats,” Paul said with a wink and a smile and then made his way out the door and down the hall for his pre-mass nap.

Not two minutes later, Darcy peeked into the room, knocking lightly on the open door before stepping inside. “I heard laughter...what was that about?” she asked suspiciously.

“Nothing,” Bucky chuckled. “Just making plans with your old man to go to Midnight Mass.”

“Oh. Really?” Darcy’s eyebrows scrunched together in confusion.

“Yeah, that surprises you? I grew up in a Catholic home. Went to mass for most of my life, before I was enlisted. Confession, too, though probably not as much as my mother would have wanted me to.”

“Well, I mean, I knew that. I guess I just didn’t expect, after everything that happened to you, that religion would be something that still meant anything to you.” Darcy shrugged.

Bucky was thoughtful for a minute. “Yeah, I guess I can see how you would think that. But a lot of the tradition of it reminds me of happier times. Of being a kid and getting into trouble with Steve, having our backsides whipped by the spindly old ladies with sharp eyes on the back pews. The hymns and the Lord’s Prayer...I dunno, it just all reminds me of when I was a kid, reminds me of my family.” Bucky shrugged. “And, even after everything that happened to me, the war, and Hydra, all of that shit, I still believe in God.”

Darcy’s eyebrows shot up on her forehead. “Seriously?”

Bucky chuckled, “Yes, seriously. If there wasn’t a God, a….loving Father watching over me, how would I ever have come to meet you? I survived so many things that killed other good men of my generation. I survived terrible things that should have killed me or broken me and aged me past repair, and yet...here I am,” he gestured at himself. “Starting new, young and free and…well, not whole, but putting the pieces back together. I have Steve back. I have Sam and the others. I have you. Your family.” He was quiet, just staring into her eyes and making her heart pound.

“So many good things and people that I would likely have never met, never known, never...cared for. So I have to think that God’s still watching out for me, still loves me and wants me to have a happy ending of sorts.” Bucky gave her a self-conscious little half-smile and a one shouldered shrug.  

Darcy peered up at him, something akin to dazed awe in her eyes. “Wow, that’s...wow. James Barnes, you are too good and pure for this world.”

Bucky gave her a face-splitting grin, nose scrunching adorably, and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Lucky you, huh?”

Darcy stuck her tongue at him and smacked him on his chest. “Come on, choir boy. Let’s go make cookies for Santa.”

Bucky’s ears perked up at the mention of cookies and Darcy couldn’t help her snort of laughter. It looked like Barnes would be playing the role of Santa this Christmas and eating up all the milk and cookies. She briefly wondered if she’d be able to convince him to don a Santa costume when Violet got a little bit older. Oh, he was such a softy, she totally could. She didn’t think too hard on the fact that her brain had seamlessly added Bucky into all future Christmases with her family. No time for that, there were cookies to be made!