The Christmas Special
At precisely 6:13 a.m. Darcy's eyes snapped open of their own accord.
Christmas morning. It was Christmas morning!
Darcy kicked the covers violently off, bounding out of bed and scrabbling to find her robe and slippers. She shot out of the bedroom and down the hall to the kitchen. As was the norm for Christmas mornings, Darcy was the first person awake, so she cheerfully started a pot of coffee brewing. After finishing that task, she began the process of making breakfast for her whole family.
As she worked, her eyes kept traveling to the doorway, impatiently waiting for everyone else to get the heck out of bed already. There were presents to be opened, dammit! She'd kind of hoped that her less than stealthy departure from her room that morning would have been enough to wake Bucky up so he could keep her company, but he hadn't even stirred. He’d come in late last night so maybe he needed his beauty sleep?
Darcy had woken the night before when Bucky had crept back in a little after 1 a.m. He'd said a quick goodnight to her father, before shutting the door and ambling over to the corner of the room where he had his duffel bag. She’d watched silently as he pulled pajamas out and began stripping down to his boxer briefs. She knew she should have closed her eyes but, hell, it was technically Christmas morning and she was counting this as a little present to herself. Merry Christmas, indeed. As he’d donned his pajamas, he began to sing Christmas hymns under his breath, which was about fifty shades of adorable.
She’d closed her eyes when he approached the bed, feigning sleep as he gingerly stepped over her to get to his own mattress. She’d listened to him toss a bit, trying to get comfortable, and then fell back asleep to the sound of him humming “O Holy Night.”
Darcy's eyes glanced at the digital clock above the microwave. Twenty minutes had gone by and still no sign of her family. Come on people, butts out of beds!
She waltzed over to the portable speakers where her iPod was docked and playing Christmas music softly in the background. She eased the volume up a bit to just below deafening and then returned to her breakfast making. If she banged the skillet a little harder than necessary against the stovetop, it was definitely a complete and total accident.
“Good morning, Darcy,” Angie grumbled, stumbling blearily into the kitchen. “How is it that you are at your most sadistic on Christmas morning? I feel like Jesus would be offended by that.”
“Angie,” she exclaimed brightly, “you're awake! Good morning! Merry Christmas!” Darcy bounded across the kitchen floor to wrap her sister in a tight embrace, arms flung around Angie's ribs and nose buried in her neck. Darcy breathed deep. Angie smelled like home and her childhood. And a little bit like spit up.
Angie reached around the shorter woman to grab the coffee cup waiting on the kitchen counter for her. She took a sip and patted her little sister on the top of her head. “You're lucky you're so cute.”
Darcy released her sister and went back to cooking, a beatific smile on her sleep rumpled face. “Yes, I know. Help me with breakfast?”
Angie rolled her eyes. “Sure Darce, anything for you.”
It was another half hour before the rest of her family trickled into the kitchen in various states of awareness. Of everyone there, only Violet seemed to match Darcy in enthusiasm for the day, but that was how she greeted most mornings. Bucky, however, was still in bed, the bum.
“He shoulda taken a pre-mass nap, like me. Only way to survive Christmas morning with Darcy.”
Darcy ignored her father. “I'm gonna go wake him up,” she said with a decisive nod of her head.
“Aren't you supposed to avoid doing that?” Angie asked. She was sitting at the bar nursing Violet and trying to scoop eggs into her mouth without dropping them on her baby’s face. Which was made all the harder when Vi would intermittently shoot out a fat little hand, attempting to wrest control of her mother's fork.
Darcy waved a hand at her sister’s concerns. “As long as I do it from a distance I'll be fine. B-R-B, family.” She scooped up a bag of marshmallows from the pantry and then took off down the hall in search of her favorite roommate.
“Buuuuckyyyy, wakey wakey,” she called. She pushed the door open slowly and peered in. He was curled up in his bed, arm thrown over his face and dead to the world.
“Bucky! Wake up! It's Christmas!”
He stirred beneath the blankets, groaning and rolling onto his stomach.
“No, get up! Up up up!” She opened the bag of marshmallows and started pelting him in the head with them.
Bucky growled and shoved his head under the pillow. “No, go away,” he mumbled into the mattress.
“JAMES Buchanan Barnes! Get. Up!” His head popped grumpily up from beneath his pillow, so she aimed a marshmallow right at his pretty face. At the last second, Barnes snapped his teeth around the sweet, giving her a smug grin around the marshmallow before sinking back underneath the protection of his pillow.
Hah! Like that would stop her. She got a running start and then launched herself up on top of the bed, swinging her legs to straddle his hips and sitting heavily on top of his backside. She started drumming on his back and singing “The Little Drummer Boy” at the top of her lungs.
“How can someone so small be so damned annoying? You're worse than Steve!” He pulled the edges of the pillow tighter around his head.
Time to go for the jugular. Darcy dug her fingertips into his tickle spot without mercy. That tickle spot was turning out to be pretty damn useful in her dealings with the man.
He began kicking and wiggling underneath her, berating her through gasping giggles. “Stop! STOP. Hah….hehe-- Darcy, please, God, let me LOOSE you devil woman!”
“No thank you,” she singsonged cheerfully.
In a really skilled move that she should probably not have been so surprised by, Bucky reached behind his back, grabbing her by the wrist and twisting underneath her until he was facing her and could gain control of the other wrist. “I said stop, you wicked woman! Jesus!”
“Yes! Jesus! Exactly,” Darcy exclaimed, joyfully trying to break Bucky’s hold on her wrists. “Let us celebrate his birth! In the living room, with presents!”
In another slick move, Bucky pulled her arms out taut in front of her, wrapped one ankle around her calf, and tilted his pelvis up. She instantly lost her balance and teetered to the side. Bucky followed her over, switching their positions so he was on top of her and nestled between her legs. A dirty little smirk lit up his features before he dipped his head to growl in her ear, “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather celebrate in here with me, instead of in the living room with everyone else?”
Oh shit. That was cheating.
“Well, I’m pretty sure that’s kind of sacrilegious, but hey, I’m game if you are.” She had hoped her response would have come out a little more sultry than squeaky, but what can you do? Voice modulation is hard when there’s a bona fide war hero trying to seduce you.
Bucky pulled his head up, his mouth quirked into a smug smile and then the tip of his tongue poked out to drag his lower lip over his teeth. He released her hands and her gaze and sank down into her softness, pressing her heavily into the mattress, his face nuzzling into the tops of her breasts and his hands coming down to tuck under her thighs.
Darcy held her breath, waiting for his next move.
She waited.
And waited.
And then, he let loose a gentle snore into her cleavage.
“You rat bastard! Wake up!” She started smacking him about his back and shoulders, uselessly thrusting up her hips and attempting to dislodge him.
Bucky chuckled against her neck. “No! You’re the best pillow I’ve ever slept on.”
She stopped her assault on his person to glare down at him. “I hate you.”
He lifted his head to meet her eyes. “Aw honey, don’t be like that.” He gave her his best puppy dog eyes.
Damn, those were some good puppy dog eyes. They could rival Steve’s, even. Though Bucky’s had a naughty, pleading edge to them that Steve’s definitely didn’t.
Okay, time to change tactics. She molded her face into something resembling sweet and innocent, drawing her hand up to stroke through his tousled mess of bedhead. “Don’t you wanna know what Santa brought you?” she asked, batting her lashes at him.
“Well, that depends.”
“On?”
“Whether I’ve been naughty or nice this year,” he purred.
“Ok well, you definitely got coal then, if only because of the nasty bruise you left on my ass cheek yesterday.”
“I bruised you, sweetheart?” he asked with some concern.
Darcy snuffled and feigned tears. “Yes. There are distinct teeth marks on my butt.”
Bucky’s concern twisted into something deviant. “Want me to kiss it and make it better?”
Darcy weighed her options. “Hmmm. Yes. I think that would be good.” She barrel rolled underneath him. “Have at it, Barnes.”
Bucky lifted a questioning brow, “Seriously?”
“Yes. It’s the one on the left,” she said imperiously, jabbing a finger at the offended bit of flesh.
Bucky laughed in disbelief, but rocked back onto his hands and knees to gain better access. She pushed up onto her elbows so she could watch over her shoulder. He locked eyes with her, slowly lowering his head and puckering his lips to a ridiculous extent. But before those luscious lips made contact, Barnes snapped his teeth, catching a hunk of pajama covered flesh between them at the last second.
“OOoowW!” Darcy jerked up and scuttled out from underneath him. She turned to beat the everloving hell out of him with his pillow, but Barnes was already up off the bed and running down the hallway, laughing uproariously the whole way.
She took off after him, skidding into the kitchen and nearly colliding with Rob.
“Woah! Hey there, where’s the fire?” Rob grabbed her by the shoulders to keep her from toppling over.
Darcy pointed an accusatory finger at Bucky, who was already sitting at the bar, sipping coffee and acting as if he’d never done a dirty deed in his whole damn life. Liar, Liar, pants on fire.
“That man...is a menace!” she panted.
Bucky blinked at her, the “who me?” clear on his face.
Rob’s eyes darted between the two and then he released Darcy. “Yeah, I don’t wanna know. Barnes, you want some eggs?”
“Why yes, I would. Thank you, Robert,” Bucky replied with a shit-eating grin.
Darcy flipped him the bird and went to sit with her sister on the other end of the bar. She plucked Violet, who had since finished eating, out of her sister’s arms. Might as well entertain herself with a baby while she waited for everyone else to finish eating.
***
At long last, Darcy’s family made their way to the living room. Angie and Rob settled on the loveseat with Violet between them, Paul planted himself in the recliner, and Bucky and Darcy set up shop side by side on the floor in front of the sofa.
As was tradition, Darcy hopped up to take on her role as “Santa,” pulling down the stockings from the fireplace to hand out to everyone. Bucky watched as she practically vibrated with excitement as she began pulling out the presents from underneath the tree, darting across the room to hand everyone their gifts.
The rest of them began to dig into the sweets that had been stuffed in the stocking, waiting for Darcy to finish her task before they moved on to unwrapping their gifts. Bucky had created a considerable dent in his candy stash when Darcy stepped to the middle of the room, clearing her throat to gain everyone’s attention.
“Ahem, so, I know the rest of you know this but for Bucky’s benefit I will now go over the unwrapping rules.”
“You have unwrapping rules?”
“Yes, now shush and listen up. Okay, in this family, we take turns opening presents so that everyone gets to have their chance to be the center of attention while they open all their gifts in one go. This year we will take our turns opening the gifts in order of oldest to youngest. We alternate oldest to youngest and youngest to oldest each year. It used to be youngest to oldest every year, but some people voiced complaints.” Darcy shot a not so subtle glance to her sister.
“Let me guess, you were the one who came up with the rules,” Bucky chuckled.
Darcy gave him a “butter wouldn’t melt” smile. “Yes. I did.”
Paul clapped and rubbed his hands together. “Alright then, age before beauty, guess I’m going first this year.”
Bucky made a sound of protest. “Technically, I’m significantly older than you, Paul.”
Paul jabbed a finger in Bucky’s direction. “You may be older but you stayed beautiful, so it don’t count. Can it, Barnes, and let me go first.” He shot the other man a smile and then started tearing through the wrapping paper on the first of several large boxes.
Bucky watched as Paul pulled seemingly random bits of what looked like metal car parts of varying sizes from the boxes he unwrapped, his smile growing wider and wider with each opened box. Paul looked up at his daughters and son-in-law in wonder. “How did you three find these? I’ve been trying to track these parts down for years.”
“Darcy has excellent connections, Dad.” Angie winked at her little sister.
“That’s code for ‘Darcy made Tony track them down in exchange for Mom’s brownie recipe,’” Darcy pointed out. Turning to Bucky, she explained that her father had been restoring a rare American muscle car over the years ever since she was a little girl, and with these last few parts he’d finally be able to finish it.
Paul leaned over to snatch up his last gift from the floor. Bucky watched nervously as he opened up the box, pulling out copy after copy of Avengers, Commandos, and Captain America comic books, each with an individualized note and Bucky’s signature.
“I, uh,” Bucky nervously rubbed the back of his neck, “I wasn’t sure what you’d like, but I figured you could add it to your collection.”
Paul grinned at him, “It’s perfect! Thank you, Bucky. Can’t wait to show this to the guys next poker night, they’ll never believe it!” he crowed with genuine delight.
Bucky smiled and bit his lips, eyes shyly dropping to the ground. Darcy glanced at him from the corner of her eyes, bumping softly into his shoulder. “Your turn, Sarge. Let’s see what you got.”
He looked to his own small pile of gifts, one from the McKenzies, one from Paul, and a third from Darcy. He pulled the gift from Paul into his lap, peeling the paper from the small box and cracking open the lid. He dipped his left hand in, pulling out a beautiful, delicately hand-carved, mahogany rosary. The beads slid across the metal surface of his palm with a little warm clinks. Bucky was touched by the beauty and thoughtfulness of the gift.
“It’s beautiful, Paul. Thank you.” He beamed at the other man, who waved it off.
“Buddy of mine likes to make ‘em. Thought you’d appreciate it since no one else in this family does,” Paul’s eyes darted between his daughters in accusation at the end.
Angie, who ignored her father’s jab, lit up with glee, pointing her finger at the fairly large box next to him. “Do that one next! It’s from me and Rob. Well, mostly me. Okay, only me. I just slapped Rob’s name on it.”
Rob glared at his wife. “Way to sell me out, Ange.” She merely shushed him, and gestured for Bucky to continue.
He made quick work of the wrapping, busting open the top of the box to pull out...a tube of Bengay? Bucky’s face scrunched in confusion, but set the pain relief cream to the side and began pulling the rest of the contents out of the box. Next came a large orange tub with “Metamucil” emblazoned on the side. This was followed by a magazine featuring an elderly couple with “AARP” written across the top. Everyone else in the room had broken out in giggles after he’d pulled out the Metamucil stuff, their laughter ratcheting up with each successive object he brought forth. It wasn’t until he pulled out the package of adult diapers that everything clicked for him.
It was old man shit. Angie had bought him a great big box of old man shit.
He shot her and Rob an irritated glare which only served to make her laugh harder and Rob throw his hands up in a “hey don’t look at me” gesture. When he pulled out the sample pack of Viagra, which he had seen advertised on tv (oh the miracles of the modern world), he threw the package at Angie’s head, who snatched it out of the air before it could make contact.
“Thanks, but no thanks, Angela. Everything still works just fine, you harpy!”
This was met with more laughter from the assembled adults. Except for Darcy, who muttered, “That’s good to know,” under her breath and sent Bucky into an impromptu coughing fit.
“You got one more gift in there, Barnes,” Angie gasped between giggles.
Bucky leveled an unamused glare at her and reached into the box to pull out whatever fresh hell the woman had concocted. He pulled out a cylindrical, metal, battery-powered...something. It fit in the palm of his hand and had a button on the side and some kind of flexible tip. The rest of the room had broke out laughing again when he’d pulled it out, but had quieted down a bit while he’d been puzzling over the device. He glanced warily at the packet of Viagra still clutched in Angie’s hands.
Turning to Darcy, he awkwardly cleared his throat. “I, uh, I don’t know what this is. Is this like…” he trailed off, dropping his voice to a nervous rumble, “...is this like a sex thing?!”
You could have heard a pin drop during the collective intake of air from the occupants of the room. Darcy’s own eyes went wide, a smile of disbelief stretching across her face. And then the spell broke and the room descended into near deafening levels of hysterics.
Over the sound of the others, Paul shouted out, “It’s a nose hair trimmer! I’ve got the same damn one!”
Bucky blushed up to his hairline and sunk down where he sat. He’d never been so embarrassed in his entire life. Probably. He couldn’t remember large sections of it, so he might be missing something.
Darcy gave him a pitying look. “Oh honey, it’s okay.” She slid next to him, pulling him into an embrace and kissing him high on his scruffy cheek, sending a shock of dizzying warmth to his belly. He couldn’t help the little smile that tugged at his lips. The embarrassment was definitely worth it if it meant he could get pity kisses from Darcy. When he looked up, Angie caught his eye with a smug twitch of her eyebrow and a wink so quick he almost missed it.
“Thank you so much, Angie. Such a thoughtful gift,” he drawled, voice dripping with sarcasm. She blew him a cheeky kiss in response.
Darcy, who still had her arms around him, shook him vigorously by the shoulders. “My turn, my turn! Open my gift!”
“Alright, alright. Hold your horses, doll,” he chuckled.
Darcy reached around him to grab the last box and shove it into his arms, watching him with eager eyes. He rolled his own eyes at her enthusiasm, but he couldn’t quell the shiver of anticipation at finding out what she’d gotten him.
He pulled the top of the box off, sifting through the layers of silvery tissue paper until his fingertips brushed against fine leather. It was a book of some sort, that much he could already tell, and in a deep purple that was the same exact shade of a ripe plum. Freeing it from the box, he read the script embossed on the front.
With a shaking hand, he traced the letters, reading them out under his breath as he went, “Barnes Family Recipes.” He cracked open the cover, finding page after page of neatly organized recipe cards. Most were blank, waiting for him to copy down what his mother left to him, but a few had been painstakingly filled in Darcy’s neat, flowing handwriting. All of the recipes that he'd shared with her over the last couple months, she'd remembered and written them down exactly as he'd made them. He turned to face her, tears welling up in his eyes. “How? How did you remember all of these?”
Darcy tapped a finger to her temple. “Photographic memory, babe.” She reached out to the book in his lap, flipping to the third page in. “Um, I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty of adding some of my Mom’s favorite recipes. I know these are supposed to be your family's recipes, but I thought l…”
Bucky quickly placed his hand over hers. “Darcy...I, I don't know what to say? It's perfect. I love it.”
Darcy smiled up at him, a little teary eyed herself now. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he replied softly, tugging her hand until he'd pulled her fully into his arms, kissing her temple softly. The kindness of her gift knocked the breath from his lungs. It was a melding of his past and his present, a memorial to the family he’d lost and a reminder of the family he seemed to have gained. It meant more to him than he knew how to fully express.
When he finally pulled back from their embrace, the rest of the Lewis family were staring at them, and there wasn't a dry eye in the room.
Searching for a bit of levity, Bucky spoke up, “Do your Christmases always include this much crying?”
Angie was quick to step in and support his efforts to lighten the mood. “Only when Darcy doesn't get her way.”
“Angela, don't be absurd,” Darcy replied huffily. “I always get my way.” She clapped her hands in determination. “Alright, enough of this blubbering. Rob, you're up!”
Rob set to work unwrapping his own gifts, meticulously running his fingers under the paper to loosen each piece of tape. It nearly drove Darcy nuts with impatience, but he paid her no mind, going about in his careful manner, avoiding even the smallest tear to the deep red paper. After unwrapping each box, he would fold the perfectly intact paper and place it gently to the side, before moving to lift the lid off.
Rob had grown up in a fairly poor household and had been trained from a young age to keep the paper in good condition so his mother could reuse it for the next year. He had always complied with his mother's wishes, but he would have done so even if she hadn't requested it. He loved the bright colors and beautiful designs of wrapping paper. He loved that something so pretty could also hold so much promise inside of it, so he'd never had the heart to tear through it as if it meant nothing.
“Pretty things should not be so carelessly broken,” he'd told Darcy the first Christmas he'd spent with their family and she'd complained about his fastidious gift opening. She'd rolled her eyes, finding him a bit obtuse at the time.
As Darcy's eyes briefly roved over Bucky's face, she thought maybe she finally understood what Rob had meant.
The first gift Rob opened was an expensive set of Prismacolor markers from Paul. Rob started to protest the nearly $500 gift, but Paul waved away his concerns. The shop really was doing well these last few months.
Rob paused to hug his father-in-law, thanking him for the gift, before opening up Bucky's. He stared at the open box, his face initially filled with confusion, before suddenly rearing back and laughing like an insane asylum tenant. Angie leaned over to peer into her husband's lap, then aimed a glare at Bucky, flipping him the bird for good measure.
Darcy watched the exchange in bemusement. “Buck, what did you get him?”
“Oh just a classic marital advice book,” he snickered.
“It's ‘Taming of the Shrew,’” Angie burst out indignantly.
Rob finished opening his gifts, unwrapping the presents from his wife and then his daughter. The first was a set of hardbound, personalized sketchbooks and set of Copic multiliner pens. The second was more of a gag gift from “Violet.” Angie had bought and personalized a coffee mug, that declared “World’s #1 Dad” on the side in puke green lettering and on the opposite side had a picture of a passed out Rob lying on the floor while Violet chewed happily on one of his discarded moccasins.
The reveal of the second gift had been met by laughter, with the exception of Rob. He stared woodenly at the mug for a good two minutes, his hands gently cradling it, before blinking up at his wife through tear-filled eyes. “I love it, Ange. I love it,” he whispered, pulling his wife to press a soft kiss to her lips.
Angie, for her part, seemed a bit bewildered at her generally stoic husband's reaction. “Wow, having Violet has really made you soft, honey,” she replied, returning his kiss with another.
“Having little girls will do that to a man,” Paul gently interjected, sending a wink and a nod to his son-in-law. Rob chuckled and nodded his agreement, brusquely scrubbing the tears from his eyes.
“Where's my gift from you, Darcy?”
“I gave you and Ange a joint gift. I was gonna let you guys thumb wrestle for the right to open it, but we both know Angie cheats anyway, so I went ahead and put it in her pile.”
“Yep, that sounds about right,” Rob replied. Then, turning to his wife, “alright, my love, you're up.”
Angie made quick work of her gifts, opening a lovely pendant from her father that had been a favorite of her mother's, a day trip to a swanky spa in Richmond from Rob and Violet, gift cards for a maid service and babysitting service from Darcy, and another book from Bucky. This one was titled “Meddling: On the Virtue of Leaving Others Alone” and had been slung at Bucky's forehead with impressive speed, though not so impressive that Bucky couldn't catch it before it hit its mark.
At long last, Darcy was allowed to open up her presents. Bucky had never seen anything so damned adorable and simultaneously terrifying in his life. The woman practically vibrated with excitement and she appeared to be on some kind of weird power trip, relishing in both the attention of the entire room and the fact that they'd been required to present her with tribute. He was suddenly hit with the realization that this woman, though wonderful, should never be put into a position of absolute power. Unless it was over him. He'd happily bend to the force of her will.
She'd opened the first gift, an assortment of blazers and skirts from Banana Republic and a hand knitted scarf from the McKenzie family, and immediately launched into an impromptu fashion show, donning the crisp fabrics atop her rumpled pajamas, and strutting her, frankly ridiculous, stuff down an imaginary runway. She’d finished off her outfit with the teardrop pearl earrings from her father that had once belonged to her mother.
Though he thoroughly enjoyed Darcy’s antics, with each passing moment a wave of anxiety and anticipation began to build beneath Bucky’s skin. He wasn’t sure how she would respond to his gift, though Angie had assured him that Darcy would love it. When Darcy’s hands finally reached for the box bearing his name, his stomach clenched painfully with nerves. He had gotten her, as he had with everyone, a book, though this one did not have the teasing humor associated with it that the others did. Inspired by their mutual love for Beauty and the Beast, he had purchased a commemorative book that featured the art and making of the movie.
Darcy’s bright blue eyes lit up with delight as she briefly flipped through the smooth, richly colored pages of the book. “Bucky it’s beautiful, thank you,” she said cheerily, stretching her hand out to gently squeeze his forearm.
Bucky gave a tight smile in return, clearing his throat nervously. “There’s, uh, there’s more.” Darcy glanced under the tree and her eyes flit to him in confusion when she didn’t find any presents hiding there.
He held up a finger calling, “hold on, doll” as he made a hasty exit to the McKenzie’s garage. He returned a moment later, carrying what must have been an incredibly heavy wooden chest in one arm and setting it with a significant thud in front of Darcy. He stepped back, hands anxiously clasped behind his back and breathing shallowly through his nose while she inspected the chest.
She quirked her head in confusion and amusement before taking a closer look at the cedar chest in front of her. She ran her hand over the smooth surface, taking in the sheer beauty of it. It was stained a deep, rich red and had to have been handcrafted, featuring intricate carvings and wooden inlays in a lighter stain. The thing must have cost Bucky a fortune, as this kind of craftsmanship was almost unheard of in this day and age. At that thought, a sneaking suspicion entered Darcy’s head and was soon confirmed when she discovered the “J.B.B.” carved delicately into the lower left corner of the chest. Darcy’s head snapped up to face him, her mouth gaping as she tried to remember how to formulate words.
“Look at that, Barnes. You’ve done the impossible,” her sister jested. “You’ve struck Darcy Lewis speechless.”
Darcy wasn’t even aware of her sister’s interjection, too focused on the gorgeous man who was standing before her, adorably worrying at his lower lip with his teeth. “Bu-...Bucky, did you make this?”
A crooked little grin lifted his cheek. “Yeah, my Pop taught me a few things when I was growing up.”
A “few things” was a bit of an understatement. His grandfather had been a master carpenter back in Ireland and had dutifully shared his knowledge with Bucky’s father, who in turn taught him. His father had hoped he would be able to make a living with it and open his own furniture store someday, but there was quite a bit of prejudice against Irish immigrants in those days and his father had been forced to take up work as a common construction worker, despite his gift. It had been a heartbreaking realization to his father, but he’d shared the knowledge with his own son in the hopes that one day Bucky might be able to live out the dream that he could not. Of course, the war had shot that dream all to hell, but he thought perhaps he could still honor his family by sharing this gift with Darcy.
“Oh my god, Bucky, this is gorgeous. When did you even have time to make it?” she asked, incredulity tightening the pitch of her voice.
“Um, it took me a few weeks. I made it in Tony’s shop at the tower while you were working.” He gave a self-conscious shrug.
Understanding seemed to light up her eyes for a moment. “Oh my god, I knew I smelled something like nail polish remover when you got in the car last week! You said I was imagining things.”
Bucky snorted and raised a hand in his defense. “Well, technically, it was turpentine and varnish, so I wasn’t really lying.” He paused, taking a steadying breath and then, “So...do you, do you like it?”
Darcy stared up at him in disbelief and then found herself leaping over the chest and launching herself at the large, and thankfully strong, man. He caught her effortlessly, pulling her close to his chest as she wrapped him up entirely in all four of her limbs. “Dear god,” she mumbled into his shirt collar, “I’ve never even seen anything so beautifully made in my whole life, let alone been gifted it. Jesus, Bucky, I don’t just like it, I love it!”
He breathed her in, relishing in the feel of her adoration and his own relief. “That’s not all, you need to open it, doll,” he murmured into the soft skin below her ear. Darcy let go of him with a piercing squeal, dropping to the ground and scrambling around until she was kneeling in front of the chest again. With reverence, she slowly lifted the lid, letting loose a small gasp at the contents.
“Crap on a cracker, Barnes. Did you just “Beauty and the Beast” me? Did you just give me my own damn miniature library? That first book makes so much more sense now. Oh my god, I love you, you ridiculous sap.” Darcy’s brain caught up with her words in time for her to see a breathtaking smile break across Bucky’s face. Her own face turned a rather astonishing shade of scarlet and she ducked down to quickly inspect the dozens of hardback books that were neatly stacked inside the trunk. She ran her fingers along the spines, reading the titles to herself and waiting for her blush to fade before she faced him again.
“This is...I can’t... Bucky,” she stammered, unable to express how deeply he had touched her.
He gave her a tender smile before dropping to his knees beside her and lightly squeezing her fingers between his. He pointed out a few of the titles as favorites of his when he’d been a young man and explained that the nice lady at the bookstore had helped him pick out the rest, along with the books that he’d gotten for the rest of the family. That poor woman, he thought, she’d been so patient and helpful while running around and doing her best to fill his vague requests. He ought to send her a thank you card before they left town.
“That explains why you left us at that cafe for so long while you went into that bookstore. Angie and I were taking bets on whether or not we’d find you passed out in the puzzles section with all the other old geezers.”
“You think you’re funny don’t you, Lewis.”
“On occasion, yes,” Darcy smirked. Then, sobering, she murmured, “Really though, Bucky, best Christmas gift ever.”
Bucky bit back on a shy grin, watching her through his thick lashes, and laced his fingers through hers. They both came down with a serious case of the googly eyes until Violet interrupted them with a happy screech.
The attention of the adults in the room immediately turned to the infant and it was deemed high time that the little princess got to open her gifts. As Violet had neither the hand-eye coordination nor the attention span to unwrap her gifts, Rob did the honors while Angie held up each of the gifts for the little girl to see. She received numerous teething toys, darling outfits of every shade of the rainbow, several educational toys, and a couple of bedtime books. Darcy had given Violet a copy of “Goodnight Moon,” a choice that was inspired by the fact that she was currently reading the author’s autobiography.
Bucky had decided on a copy of “The Tale of Peter Rabbit” for the little girl. Really, it had been the inspiration behind his entire shopping trip at the bookstore that week. He had gone in specifically for the book when he’d had the lamely belated realization that Christmas with Darcy’s family implied presents were necessary for her family. Thankfully, last minute shopping seemed to be a tradition with the Lewis-McKenzie clan, and no one thought it strange that he needed to do some shopping as well. He’d decided on Violet’s gift first, thinking that she would be the easiest to shop for, and he had been right.
Growing up as he had during the Depression and the child of two immigrant parents, money was tight and books were considered a luxury. The only book that he’d owned as a little boy was a well-loved copy of “The Tale of Peter Rabbit.” He had adored the story and had deeply fond memories of reading it to his little sister when she was born. When it came to deciding what to give Violet, he could think of nothing more precious than the book that he had so loved.
Once he’d picked it out in the little local bookstore, he had been hit with the realization that he could have likely afforded every single book in the store now, thanks to Stark’s payroll. It was such a foreign thing for him to have access to those kinds of funds, but he was thrilled that he now had the opportunity to give Darcy’s entire family something so precious to him as brand-spanking new books. Which then led him to his idea to fill the chest he had made for Darcy with as many books as he could fit in it. He knew how much she loved to read, how she’d hunker down into her battered, leather recliner at home and disappear into a world all her own for hours. He’d watched her lose herself to many a book over the last couple months.
He had also been inspired by that Disney movie she had shown him. When she’d first played “Beauty and the Beast” for him, he couldn’t help but draw parallels between the story and their situation. A kind, beautiful, intelligent woman is forced to live with a monster indefinitely...yeah, how could he not see the similarities there? But the monster had won the girl in the end, wooed her with literature and by finding the gentleness within. Perhaps...perhaps he could do the same?
With the way she kept looking at him and idly stroking her fingers over the intricate carvings on the chest, he warmed with the feeling that he might have succeeded.
***
With the morning gift-giving officially over, the Lewis-McKenzie family members dispersed to tend to various matters. Those who were still in pajamas went to change, Angie went off to nurse Violet and lay her down for a nap, the living room was tidied, and Rob and Darcy began preparing Christmas Day lunch. It was looking like it would be a veritable feast this year, especially considering that Bucky would be contributing a few of his mother’s dishes as well. Most of the dishes had been prepped the day before and only needed to be popped in the oven for a couple of hours. Within an hour, the house was beginning to fill with some truly delicious aromas.
Having been shooed out of the kitchen--Darcy had imperiously declared that there were too many cooks--Bucky found himself settling into the overstuffed couch next to Mr. Lewis. Paul had his eyes glued to some football game or another and Bucky assumed the other man hadn’t even noticed his arrival until Paul cleared his throat and addressed him.
“You know, that chest you made looks a bit like the bridal chest that my grandmother got as a wedding present from my grandfather. Are you making some kind of statement in regards to Darcy’s marital status?” he asked bluntly.
There didn’t seem to be any judgment one way or the other in Paul’s tone, so Bucky took that as a good sign. It didn’t stop the blush that rose up to pink his cheeks, but at least he didn’t feel like he was about to be shot. “I, uh, no. No I wasn’t. I’m not.” He scratched awkwardly at his collar. “It kind of turned out like that on accident? I wasn’t trying to, but when I finished it I realized I had essentially recreated my mother’s hope chest. I didn’t even remember the thing until I saw the finished product and all these memories of her keeping her linens and embroidery in it came flooding back.” Bucky shrugged and smiled tightly, not sure how Paul would react to the information.
“Huh, that must be a strange thing, having all this stuff floating in your subconscious, unaware of it until you accidentally recreate it.” Mr. Lewis sank back into silence, seemingly reabsorbed into the football game. Bucky thought the conversation was over until Paul suddenly spoke up again, his eyes never leaving the television screen. “I’m glad you got that memory back, kid. And it doesn’t matter much to me what you did or did not mean by it, but I just gotta tell you, that was a beautiful thing you did for my Darcy. I’m thankful for you.”
Bucky sat in silence, unable to respond over the unexpected lump in his throat. When Paul didn’t say anything else, Bucky turned away to watch the game blindly, buzzing over the way Paul had spoken to him. For a man that seemed so uncomplicated and down to earth, he could be utterly disarming. He shouldn’t be so surprised though. Darcy was the exactly the same.
***
Christmas Lunch, like the rest of the day, was a joyous and raucous affair. Everyone ate entirely too much, and absolutely no one gave a rat’s ass about the amount of calories consumed in one sitting. In fact, Angie had had the ingenious idea to dig out a pair of her old maternity pants with a spandex panel instead of a button or zipper to wear to lunch in order to provide the most comfort while stuffing herself silly. As Darcy thumbed the top button of her own pants open after her second piece of pie, she couldn’t help but let out an envious little sigh. Next year she was buying and bringing her own pair of maternity pants, dammit.
Bucky, on the other hand, seemed capable of devouring twice as much food as everyone else while still remaining as svelte and hard-bodied as ever. His metabolism really was just absurdly unfair. Which is why Bucky was tasked with cleanup duty while everyone else got to go sleep off lunch in their respective bedrooms. The man had merely chuckled, declaring that he was happy to help, and rose from the table to set to his work, flexing the whole way to the kitchen to prove just how perfect of a specimen he was. Probably. She may have imagined that he was gratuitously flexing out of spite, but that was irrelevant.
Bucky had been cheerily scrubbing at dirty dishes for about half an hour when Rob wandered up beside him, his sketchbook tucked neatly beneath his arm and his hands stuffed in his pants pockets. Bucky had been humming softly as he scrubbed, but abruptly stopped when he took notice of the other man. Rob peered conspicuously behind himself before turning back to Bucky with a mischievous gin.
“I know you think all me and Angie got you for Christmas was old man jokes, but I, uh, I made you something that I think you might actually like,” he said, pulling out the sketchbook and opening it up. Rob flipped through the pages, coming to a stop when he found what he was looking for, and held up the page for Bucky to peer at.
What he saw nearly knocked the breath from him and it certainly made him a bit weak in the knees. Rob had drawn a near perfect likeness of Darcy, her eyes alight with mischief and her perfect mouth stretched wide into a wicked smile. There was snow stuck to her hair, which was a wild mass of tousled curls, and the pinks of her cheeks indicated that she had been recently exposed to the cold. She looked utterly divine, an impish spirit of ice and snow, beautiful and wicked and completely perfect. Bucky stared at Rob with incredulity. “Is this from when we played in the snow yesterday?”
Rob’s thin lips stretched into a pleasant smile. “Indeed, it is. The way you were staring at her all day yesterday, I kept thinking, ‘Take a picture, Barnes. It’ll last longer,’ so I decided to make you one instead.”
A soft chuckle startled from Bucky’s chest and he reached out to gently trace a finger over the drawing. “It’s beautiful Rob, can I keep it?” he asked hopefully.
“Of course you can. Merry Christmas, Bucky,” Rob replied, then carefully pulled the page from the binding of the sketchbook. He offered to stow it into Bucky’s suitcase since he was busy washing dishes, and Bucky gratefully accepted, sure that Rob would do a better job of packing away the precious illustration than he ever could.
As the younger man turned to leave the kitchen, Bucky called out to him softly, “Merry Christmas, Rob. Thank you for letting me join you and your family. I...this is the best Christmas I’ve had in...a very long time.”
Rob gave him a bittersweet smile, tentatively reaching out a hand to clasp him on the shoulder. “You’re welcome here anytime, Bucky. Merry Christmas.”