December 21st, 2016
And I'm standing here for all the world to see
There ain't that much left of me
That has very far to fall
December 21st, 2016
“Winning her over?” The interviewer asks in teasing disbelief.
“Yeah. Not afraid of a little work, ‘specially if it’s for somethin’ worth it.” Bucky is on the set of the Today Show, and behind him is the glass wall where the crowds are holding up signs. Most of them are Avengers themed.
“He’s making the rest of us look bad, that’s what he’s doing.” Sam says, sitting next to Bucky on the little interview couch. He’s cradling the Falcon action figure the show had left on the couch. “She sent him that ugly ass sweater – oops, sorry ma’am, - and he’s wearing it on national TV.”
“Don’t diss the sweater. It lights up, see?” Bucky presses the little button sewn into the hem and the lights start to flash. He shakes his head with a grin that’s equally delighted and baffled.
“I think it’s romantic.” The interviewer gushes, and the in-house crowd cheers. Darcy can’t feel so bad, sitting in her nana’s living room, for falling head over heels for the man. The rest of the world has too. “So, any special holiday plans for your lady?”
“Nah, she’s gone home to be with her family, and I’m here with mine.”
“You mean the Avengers?” The interviewer clarifies. Darcy rolls her eyes, hard. What do they think? That Bucky’s going to drive out to the cemetery and spend Christmas there?
“Yeah, we’re mostly all here.” Sam watches the sweater out of the corner of his eye for a second, then turns back to the interviewer. “Thor and Jane went to Asgard, but Pep’s flying in tonight I think.”
“Is he gonna be wearing that sweater with the rest of us next year, Darcy-girl?” Uncle Nate asks, darting a glance in towards the kitchen where his brother is cooking before sneaking another chocolate off the candy tray. He will totally blame Darcy for it when Uncle Bing accuses him, and Bing will get distracted claiming no, he doesn’t count the candies.
“Don’t push the girl.” Rose Lewis, Darcy’s grandmother and biggest fan, slaps her brother’s arm, not looking away from the television.
Lewises have worn aggressively festive sweaters at Christmas for as long as Darcy can remember. There are pictures of her as a toddler in sweaters with glittering puffs of snow and mirrored beads topping elf shoes and embroidered text bubbles making gloriously terrible puns.
It had made her feel good to send Bucky the sweater, but she hadn’t thought that she’d see him wearing it. Certainly not on national television as he told the world there was someone special.
She’d been stealth gifting him for a while. It helps with the overwhelming urge she has to fly across the country and jump him, and maybe get some of that breakfast he’d promised her. She’s just not ready for that, so instead, she sends him meaningful gifts that aren’t easily identified as meaningful.
A start of the Jasmine plant that she’s carried ever since she left home. Which itself had been a start from the plant her father had grown in his garden, which had been Darcy’s playground growing up.
The playlist of songs that she’d always thought she’d have playing at her wedding.
Another playlist, one filled with songs that reminded her of him, all jangling and soulful and sexy at once. It had been one of his favorite playlists, but she’d kept her mouth shut. There had been times the playlist had been Darcy’s do-not-playlist. There had been other times she’d listened to it for cathartic reasons, as she tried to say goodbye. And there had been times she’d tortured herself with it. Just like him, she’d never been able to get rid of it, and she still liked it.
And now, a Lewis Christmas sweater.
“Anything you want to say to your special lady?” The interviewer asks, milking it for all it’s worth.
“I’ll say something for him, mmmmpphhh.” Sam is cut off by Bucky’s hand clamping over his mouth. And America is treated to the sight of the Falcon trying to squirm out of the Winter Soldier’s grip, as the Solider smirks down at him while in a light-up Christmas sweater.
“He just licked me.” Bucky says. “Like that’s gonna do anything for him. I was covered in alien goo last week. Strategy, Wilson.”
The camera zooms in on Bucky’s face as he grins at Sam’s muffled and imperceptible objections, and Bucky notices. He winks.
“Well.” Rose fans herself with a couch pillow.
Yeah, same Nana. Same.
“You missed Darcy’s young man, Bing.” Nate calls into the kitchen.
“He’s on the television all the time! I’m not worried about that, what I’m worried about are my souffles.” Bing answers, and Darcy tips her head back against the couch. She doesn’t bother to correct them. Surrounded by her family, the people who raised her since she was six, and feeling her heart teeter on that edge. The edge of full-blown love.
The white Christmas tree is the same one that has been set up in the corner of the living room since Darcy was a baby pulling the shiny ornaments off, the butterfly dinner trays are hidden between the back of the couch and the wall, and Bing’s ceramic Westie, named Lucille, still crouches underneath the pink armchair. It’s steadying being home, staying up late playing card games in the kitchen, smelling her Nana’s detergent on the sheets in her bedroom, and walking past the veritable shrine to her that has overtaken both sides of the hallway.
There are pictures of pudgy baby Darcy, of Nate at her second grade career day, of all of her graduations. (The familial pride peaks in the picture taken after Darcy got her Doctorate. They all thought it was funny to look underwhelmed in the more recent one after her degree in Mechanical Engineering. Even Jane and Thor got in on it. At least Tony had been excited.)
“Okay, that’s all we have time for today. Thanks for coming, guys, and Merry Christmas.” The interviewer says, directing a perfect smile at the camera as the show’s theme music begins to play over a preview of what’s to come, which includes the perfect turkey baster, a chat with Michael Hillend about just how they get all those floats inflated for the parade, and maybe even a visit with Santa.
Darcy pulls out her phone to see what the internet’s reaction to that is, heading to the kitchen to get another cup of coffee before the olds switch to decaf.
She’s barely got a peak at the tweets when a text message pops up on her screen, from Bucky.
Hope that was okay.
Darcy shrugs, pouring creamer into her mug. They’d never agreed to hiding anything, and while she can’t really stick a label on it, they’re certainly something. They text everyday, Skype every couple of days, and Darcy has gotten pretty acquainted with the postman what with all the boxes they send back and forth.
Send me more of those chocolate covered espresso beans and we’re cool.
His response comes immediately. Done. But you’ve got a problem.
“Who are you texting?” Rose is opening the blinds, letting the morning sunlight flood the kitchen. Now Darcy can see the numerous brightly colored bird feeders hung just outside the window. “Is it Anthony? We had a nice chat last week.”
Darcy can’t help but snicker. Her nana loves Tony, and Tony is totally baffled but pleased by it. He’s always on his best behavior, and lets her call him Anthony and at Darcy’s graduation, Rose totally pinched his cheek. Plus he answers when she calls him to check in on him and see how he's doing.
“Always with the texting.” Bing shakes his head at the state of Darcy’s generation as he pulls the souffles out. Darcy stows her phone and prepares to settle in for breakfast. “What happened to actually talking to people is what I want to know.”
“Oh, Bing, stop.” Rose rolls her eyes, reaching out to pat Darcy’s hand. Darcy leans into her, relishing being home again.