Work Text:
Leave it to Steve fucking Rogers to die two days after Thanksgiving and ruin the all of Bucky’s holidays for the rest of his life. A year later, back in New York for the first time since estate stuff had been worked out, his heart felt like an open wound and all of his favorite holiday foods and drinks were ash in his mouth. He hated this. He had loved Christmas more than any other time of the year and now he had panic attacks when he woke up and it was cold outside.
Moving to California had helped, but not much. Not when a letter had ended up on his doorstep written in Steve’s handwriting, urging him to New York. It wasn’t written in a way that necessarily suggested Steve knew Bucky would leave, but Bucky still couldn’t help but feel like he was being watched since the letter had found its way to him at his new address. That was impossible.
He supposed it actually wasn’t that impossible. He’d left a forwarding address and the letter was wrapped in a new envelope and really the scrawl on that envelope was probably just messy enough to be similar to Steve’s and his aching heart wanted to believe Steve was still around.
It was just a letter Steve had written before he died.
Buck,
I guess I’m not gonna know what it was that finally kicked my ass. Or, at least, I’m not gonna get to correct this letter with the right answer. I’m gonna guess it’s this half-heart I have, but I bet there’s good money on a lung issue too.
Sorry, this is morbid and probably cruel to you. It’s not really something I’ve ever had to think about too seriously--being the one who gets left behind. Do you remember freshman year when you got clocked in the face by that line drive up on the mound? You went down so fast and I just thought ‘no, I wasn’t supposed to be the one who survived.’ But you got up and I got sick a few weeks later and we stopped thinking about role reversal. Even when you went MIA, it never felt real. I always knew you’d come back.
Hey, you wanna know something that I think is funny and you’ll probably be pissed about? I’m writing this right next to you. It’s October, almost Halloween. You’re wearing socks with jack-o-lanterns on them. Your sister’s girl bought them for you. You’re sleeping on your hand, elbow balanced on the arm of the chair. It keeps slipping off and you jolt awake and curse and help me with the solitaire game I’m playing and then fall back asleep in the same position.
Buck, I love you so much.
I know we’ve been sayin’ it since we were kids, but if there’s one thing you remember about me, remember that. And if there’s a second thing--that I’m devastatingly handsome. Tell the world about the model it never got.
I don’t think I’ve got much more time. I’ve been sick so long I used to think I wouldn’t feel the end coming, but that’s not true. This is different. I ain’t gonna mention it to you and I’m gonna make sure all the nurses don’t tell you neither. You don’t need that. We’re gonna have the same amount of time together whether you know or not.
I wish we hadn’t lost so much time to what happened when you shipped out. Wish I hadn’t been so healthy while you were gone. Wish you hadn’t come back different. Wish I’d known how to help you put yourself back together. Have I mentioned I didn’t think I’d have to be the strong one? I guess that kind of makes me a bad friend but you always stuck around, huh? Even when we didn’t know what we were doing.
I know you’re gonna be hurting again. So I need you to do something for me. Remember we used to do that, after your discharge? I just gave you tasks and you had to get them done? Here’s a new game.
There’s a cafe a few blocks from the hospital. I know it’s the last place you wanna hang out, but go to the cafe the Monday before Christmas for breakfast. Say 8. Sit in the purple booth. That’s my favorite. On the good days, when I could make the walk with the trainers or nurses, I’d sit there and try to match watercolors until I got that shade. Order your favorite drink and food. They have a seasonal menu, so I guess I should send you in October so you can get those pumpkin and cream cheese danishes, but maybe they’ll still be there in November.
Talk to someone new.
That’s the game.
You have to talk to someone while you’re there. I think it’ll be obvious who it should be. I just have a good feeling. We made it through two decades on good feelings, right? Follow this last gut instinct of mine. I think you’ll find exactly who you’re supposed to talk to.
The midnight rounds are about to come through so I’m going to wrap this up before the nurse gossips my ear off. (I wonder if Paramedic Jack ever told Kelsey how he actually felt before he switched shifts.)
I love you, Buck,
Steve
Bucky had read it again and again when it came in and now he read it once more, standing outside the cafe, which was more of a bakery, and trying to convince himself to go inside. The snow picked up and the wind snaked under his coat, though, so he stepped inside. Who knew a few months in California could ruin a lifetime of New York in him?
He ordered a drink that was more chocolate than coffee and a plain cream cheese danish because there was no pumpkin and then looked around the cafe for the purple booth. He found one, but there was already someone tucked around a drink, studying the wooden table below him intently.
Well. Maybe that was the sign Steve meant for him to be looking for.
Bucky made his way over to the booth and set his drink down on the corner of the table before clearing his throat. “Hey do you mind if I--” He cut off as the lone drinker looked up at him. “Oh, no way,” he breathed.
“Oh, come on,” Sam Wilson groaned. “Of all the places in New York? What’re you doing here?”
“I--” Bucky almost waved the letter around, but found he definitely did not want to share it with Sam Wilson.
Sam was one of the physical therapy trainers at the hospital. A part time job, since he was also a part time therapist at the VA and apparently still worked for the Air Force somehow. Bucky knew all of that because he’d been the therapist of Bucky’s assigned group therapy when he’d come back from overseas. And then it turned out he’d been Steve’s PT since the first stroke, since before Bucky had been back from his deployment. Bucky couldn’t get away from the guy, and he’d tried. He’d been removed from the group therapy in a truly spectacular fashion--nothing against Wilson at that point, really, but it was a nice bonus--but then he’d seen him at least twice a week at the hospital anyway. It didn’t help that Wilson had become attached to Steve’s side in Bucky’s absence, and after his return too as it turned out.
Steve was allowed to have other friends. Obviously. It’s just that Sam Wilson was handsome and funny and smart and knew what Steve had gone through while Bucky had been gone. And Bucky didn’t particularly feel like he could compete. He didn’t want to have to compete.
There were other things--things that if Bucky sat down and was honest with himself were actually positives and not negatives--like the fact that Wilson had never used kiddie gloves around him. Every other asshole between some desert and Brooklyn had either acted like Bucky was a live bomb or the man setting it off. Wilson hadn’t acted like anything. Bucky was just another guy to him. Which was jarring, but also probably good.
But he wasn’t looking for good, he was looking for a reason to stay away.
“Hello, Major Tom?” Wilson asked, waving his hand over the coffee cup lid Bucky was staring at.
“Do you still go running every morning?” Bucky asked stupidly instead of answering. Wilson was dressed in sweats, a thermal running shirt under the USAF hoodie he was wearing.
“Yeah, man. I still go running. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Figured you’re so old by now, they musta kicked you out of the Force.”
Wilson rolled his eyes. “It’s only been a year. And we’re still the same age.”
“I didn’t say we weren’t. I’m old too, man.”
“Yeah, you really look it. That haircut really isn’t working for you,” Sam agreed sarcastically. Then, with a weary sigh, he gestured to the other side of the booth. “Go ahead, sit down. I think I know what this is about.”
“You do?” Bucky asked but sat down anyway.
Sam produced a piece of paper from a pocket in his tights under his sweats. “Yeah, I’d be willing to bet that fancy left arm of yours that you’ve got a matching letter.”
Bucky glared at him for the jab about his prosthetic but took the letter and skimmed it. If it was a match for his, he didn’t have to know the exact details. Indeed, though, there were those instructions at the bottom of the letter. A challenge, one last dare, instead of an order to get out of the house, this time. He passed the letter back over and now waved his around, but didn’t pass it over.
“Yeah,” he said with a nod. “I’ve got one too.”
“That little shit,” Sam said.
“Agreed.”
They stared at each other for a moment. Well, not at each other. At the table between them, mostly.
“Listen,” Sam finally started. “About after the funeral…”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Bucky said quickly. “I’m, um, I’m supposed to be making a friend or something. So I guess I should--” He gestured to the rest of the cafe.
“Man, if he told the both of us to be here, he clearly wanted us to see each other.”
Bucky grimaced, his own thoughts voiced out loud. “He couldn’t have known about what was gonna happen.”
“No,” Sam agreed, hesitantly though. Like he had the same creeping worry that somehow Steve was watching from beyond the grave. Which would have just been all sorts of wrong that night.
“Hey, are you Bucky and Sam?” an older barista asked at their side suddenly.
“Sam and Bucky, but sure,” Sam said, turning on his charm while Bucky didn’t have a choice but to watch it happen. He still had the same dimple in his cheek, his beard still tucked in towards it. He wore the beard a little thicker now, but the goatee was the same. The dimple still produced the same smile lines around his eyes. Or maybe the smile just produced both. He needed to look anywhere else.
“Great. Steve left this here, all weird and cryptic. But you know how he is. Was…” The barista blinked at her own correction, seemed to freeze, and then handed over an envelope. “Anyway, I’m glad to finally get it out of the office. Thought it’d for sure get ruined in a year.”
“Thanks,” Bucky said quietly, hurt blooming in his chest at her correction too.
The barista walked away and Sam quickly pulled the envelope from Bucky’s fingers. “Another letter, are you kidding?”
“It’s a scavenger hunt. We used to say we’d do it as kids. Lead each other around the city until we found some mystery prize. We never did.”
“And now he wants us to work on it together?”
Bucky shrugged. “That definitely seems like what he’s doing. What’s it say?”
Sam got the paper free and shook out the folds. “Congratulations, you two. I’m going to guess you didn’t get thrown out of the cafe like an old west saloon. You’re gonna have to keep playing nice, though. There’s a storage unit a few blocks from where you are now. I’ve been sharing it with a friend since Bucky shipped out. Put a lot of your shit in it, too, but you’ve already taken most of it. Assuming my friend didn’t traipse after me to the great beyond, the unit should still be available. Go there, use the key in the bottom of this envelope, and find the green card there.
“Sam, did Bucky figure out this game before or after you read this letter? I swear every card I got him from the age of eight onwards, he tore open, thinking we were about to start some grand adventure around New York. I bet he’s said Treasure Hunt fourteen times before you could get the envelope opened.
“Buck…whatever, you already know what I’m gonna say. Let this be the scavenger hunt you didn't get when you came back. I don’t know how much more adventure you could want in your life and I assume New York at Christmas time will be more than enough of a wild terrain, but hopefully you’ll like this anyway.
“I’ll see you at the storage unit.”
Sam flipped the envelope upside down and a small gold plated key clattered between them. Bucky swiped it up and turned it over in his fingers until the light caught on the etching of the unit number. “616,” he said.
“And the address,” Sam added, holding up a sticky note. “I wonder who the other friend is.”
“I didn’t know he split the unit. I guess I just didn’t pay attention to the other shit in it when I got mine back out. Figured it was his. He’d been in and out of the hospital at that point. Thought he was planning a move or something.”
Sam hummed and traced his thumb over the writing on the paper. “I told him to move in with me. After he got moved out of my rotation, when I wasn’t his PT, I told him to move in with me. But you were coming back and it’d be okay, he said. You’d help him around the apartment.”
Bucky flinched back like Sam had hit him. He jarred his elbow against the back of the booth and then quickly scrambled out of it and beelined for the door.
“Barnes!” Sam called after him. “Barnes!” He tried to grab the letter and the envelope and the sticky note and his coat and the key. But the key wasn’t on the table or on Bucky’s side of the booth or on the ground. Sam cursed and looked back to the door, to the windows to the street. Bucky was gone, along with the key.
_______________________________
Sam followed Barnes out the door and then cursed his entire obnoxious name as the cold bit at his nose and fingertips. If Bucky wanted to give up on Rogers–again–that was fine by Sam. That was his prerogative. It was Sam’s prerogative to kick his ass if they ran into each other again.
Against the wind and through the crowd of holiday tourists and shoppers, Sam started for the storage site. He was only marginally aware that Steve had had a unit somewhere. He’d mentioned it once or twice–notes to self to get something out or put something in–but Sam had never been himself. Not having the key would probably prove to be a problem but Sam figured he could beg the extra key off the lot manager–show him the letter, etc–or figured out who the other unit owner was at the very least. Probably none of that was allowed, but people liked Sam and, though he didn’t use his powers for self gain often, he was not above it entirely.
Other than being cold (which was the walk’s fault) and angry (which was not the walk’s fault) the trek to the storage place wasn’t awful. At least it wasn’t snowing. Normally Sam was all for snow over Christmas, but also normally he was either working indoors or down in Louisiana where it didn’t matter anyway. Trotting all around the city could turn anyone from Christmastime snow magic.
The storage lot was rows on rows of long metal storage containers behind decent fencing. Sam let himself into the front office and shook the cold off of himself as a bell dinged a few seconds later. A young Indian man sat at the desk, boredly watching an old baseball game on the TV behind him. Sam watched along with him for a few pitches before he cleared his throat. The man’s eyes slid towards him and he sighed.
“If you forgot your key, I need a valid picture ID that kind of matches what’s on file,” he droned like he’d already said it a million times that day and was tired of it by the first one.
“Ih, actually, I’m here to collect something for a friend who passed,” Sam said, really laying on the soft, hurt tone. “I know he used this site. I even know the unit number. They key just seems to have gone missing in his things.”
The clerk looked uncomfortable but didn’t relent. “Sorry, man. You’ll have to wait 90 days after non-payment for us to open the unit up.”
Sam screwed his mouth to the side. “I know he was sharing the unit. Could you tell me who he was rooming with? Maybe they have an extra key,” he suggested.
The guy grimaced. “Listen, man, I really want to help you, but all of that is against policy. I mean, maybe with a death certification, I coulda let you in the unit, but not if another renter is still alive. It’s a security thing y’know?”
Sam sighed and hung his head. “Yeah, I know, I know. You’re just doing your job and I appreciate that. It’s a good place you’ve got here. But I’m really just trying to get my friend’s things–”
“Sam?”
The doorbell chimed belatedly as Sam turned to look at the voice behind him. He sucked in an irritated breath between his teeth when he saw who stood there. “Barnes,” he ground out.
Bucky looked between Sam and the clerk, then down to the letter Sam had forgotten he was clutching. “You beat me over,” he said and then held up the key. “Ready?”
“I’m gonna need a name for the record,” the clerk said.
“Sure,” Bucky agreed, cool as could be, like he hadn’t just thrown a fit in the coffeeshop. “James Barnes. I came two or so years back. My information should be on file. Unit 616.”
The clerk typed something into his computer and Sam took the opportunity to glare at Bucky, who at least had the decency to look abashed. “Okay, you’re checked in. Use the key on the doors and make sure you lock the unit behind you,” the clerk said eventually, just as Sam was hoping he could actually burn a hole in Bucky’s forehead.
He and Bucky crossed to the back door that led to the units at the same time, though Bucky leaned back to say, “The Cubs take it early in the seventh.”
“Oh, come on, man!” Sam heard the clerk cry as the door shut.
“You’re an asshole,” Sam said as they walked through the lot, air a last a little warmer out of the wind with the sun beaming down.
“Nah, it was a boring game anyway.”
“I’m not talking about you spoiling a game for that guy. I mean you ditching with the key.”
“I was coming back to leave it for you. With your name and everything. They’re real strict about that kind of thing here.”
“Yeah, I noticed that,” Sam agreed drily. “I don’t know why Steve wouldn’t have put our names down if he wanted us to be able to get in.”
“He put my shit in there and didn’t put my name down.”
“Well, he did think you were dead,” Sam pointed out. “You’re lucky he kept all that shit. I woulda thrown it all out.”
“Bullshit,” Bucky snorted.
Sam waited for an elaboration. When Bucky just kept walking, turning down a new aisle, and no elaboration came, he looked over in just a smidgen of blazing anger. “Go on, Barnes. Share with the class.”
Bucky looked over at him and shrugged. “You took me to your apartment after the funeral,” he reminded him. “I saw all of your ex’s shit all over.”
Sam stopped walking. His fingers curled against his palm, nails scoring marks into the skin there. “He’s not my fucking ex,” he hissed.
Bucky stopped walking as well and turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow. “Then where is he, Wilson? You don’t seem like a cheater and with a thousand pictures all over your place, half a closet of clothes, guys like that don’t just disappear.”
“He’s dead, you asshole.”
Bucky blinked dumbly at him, fingers flexing awkwardly by his side. Sam wished the cool air would work some magic on the anger building under his skin but it didn't.
“And he wasn’t just my shithead best friend. We were engaged. We’d been living together for years. You and Steve were not me and him. He’s the reason I didn’t re-up. He died flying a mission with me and I quit the force.”
Bucky’s jaw worked for a second more before he said, “Steve never mentioned that.”
“It wasn’t his to mention,” Sam answered evenly, reigning in his anger. It usually started to turn back to hurt at this point.
Barnes knew well enough to drop it after that. Sam followed him to a slightly smaller unit, one with a large hinged door instead of a garage door. Bucky slid the key into the lock and the door gave in with a sigh of cold air. He pawed at the wall until a light flicked on.
The unit was about as inconspicuous as Sam imagined. A lot of cardboard and clear plastic boxes. An external closet with ugly clothes on it. That must’ve been the bunkmate’s because Sam had never seen Steve wear anything like that. A few pieces of random furniture.
Bucky was stock still in front of the elephant in the room. Dead center to everything else, a solid black motorcycle sat, quiet and waiting. Sam would have guessed it belonged to the other renter if not for the green envelope taped to the handlebar. Bucky crossed to it and tore it open.
“Sam, Buck,
Don’t snoop around. Most of this stuff isn’t mine. I guess none of it is mine at this point. But I know something that is yours now. Well, Bucky’s. Sorry, Sam. I don’t think you ride. I know you already know, Buck, but this is my dad’s bike. Ma always wanted you to get it. Never even considered selling it.
“It’s a good thing ‘cause I’m about to send you two across the boroughs. I know the hospital is right around the corner, but I figured both of you are pretty sick of it at this point. So I’m gonna send you Our Lady instead. I figure there’s been enough time since we were kids that Buck can’t be tired of it still. Besides, they renovated a few years back, so it shouldn’t look the same.
“I know something about the two of you that you two don’t. A similarity. A shared hobby. It’s terribly sweet on both your parts. You’d tease the hell out of each other if you weren’t both doing it.”
“Stop,” Sam said quietly. “I know what he’s going to suggest and I don’t want to deal with it or you today.”
“I know what he’s saying too, hot shot,” Bucky shot back. But he folded the letter up and shoved it in his coat pocket. Instead, he reached for the helmet and leather coat on the seat of the bike. A second leather coat fell to the other side and, when he leaned over to retrieve it, he stood with another helmet as well. “This one must’ve been on the handle. That’s how his dad always parked it. And this,” he said, shifting the jacket he’d kept for himself, “was my dad’s jacket. I’d given it to Steve ages ago when he was sick. He’d ended up in the hospital and I figured this thing was lost in the shuffle.” He brought the collar up to his nose and took a deep breath. Sam pretended he didn’t see.
“Yeah, this one wasn’t mine to lose either. And I’m glad to have it back.”
“Ain’t it a kick in the ribs, thinkin’ that, huh? I was so happy to have him out of the hospital that it took me weeks to remember this old thing. And then I felt like such an asshole, wanting to ask about it, like it was half as important as him not dying.”
Sam nodded. “I knew I’d given it to him to wear but when we couldn’t find it, I dropped the whole issue. Kept telling myself it musta been my mistake. I misplaced it. I left it on a train or at the vending machine or something.” He ran his thumb over a patchwork of stitching on the flannel lining. “I can’t believe he had it this whole time.”
“Yeah, well, he woulda forgotten his own head if it wasn’t attached,” Bucky said. “He probably didn’t find them until after they’d moved him out of the hospital last time.”
Sam hummed noncommittally and tried not to flinch at the reminder of that day. He kept moving his thumb over the lining.
“Come on, I’ll drive you home,” Bucky said suddenly, fishing for the key in the saddlebag.
“I can walk,” Sam said as he shook his head. He shrugged the leather jacket on over his athletic hoodie. “Not like I’ll be cold at this point, right?”
“Sam, don’t be stubborn.” Bucky shook the key. “Brand new-to-us ride.”
“I live right down the road,” Sam insisted. “I’ll be fine. I need some time to myself.”
“Sam…”
Sam turned and walked back the way they’d come.
_______________________________
So maybe Bucky was ruining this. He thought that’s what he wanted. He wanted it to be what he wanted. He wanted Sam to push him away so he didn’t have to make the decision himself, so he could blame someone else for his own misery. He’d done it to Steve too and look where that got him.
Freezing his ass off, propping a motorcycle up with said ass outside of an apartment building he’d been to once under not great circumstances. And those circumstances just followed him around, it seemed. It was a kick in the teeth to realize he still knew the way, from a hotel no less. He flipped his phone between his fingers a few times before letting out a wearing sigh and putting through the call waiting on the screen.
“Barnes?” The voice that answered was groggy and Bucky was surprised to find that that surprised him. He’d internalized Sam as a morning bird. He must’ve skipped his daily marathon. Bucky thought that might be his fault.
“Up and at ‘em, Sunshine,” he chirped back. “Come to your front window.” When a curtain shifted a few seconds later, Bucky held up a paper bag with half a dozen of the blueberry muffins Sam had ordered the morning before in it. “I’m the handsome one, on the bike, with the gifts.”
“Why haven’t you lost my number?”
“Figured you’re good for a cup of sugar every now and then.”
“Fuck you.”
“We’ve got a hospital to get to. I called ahead, they’re expecting us.”
Sam grumbled on the other end of the line, then muttered, “Give me ten minutes.”
And he was good to his word. Ten minutes later, he was trudging down the steps of his small complex, wearing the leather jacket and holding the helmet under his arm.”
“Hey,” he greeted tersely.
Bucky handed over the muffins like an apology. “Listen, Sam,” he started, “about yesterday–”
“I really don’t want to talk about it. Just get us to the NICU ward.”
Bucky held up one hand in surrender and threw his leg back over the bike. “You ever ridden before?”
“A few times,” Sam said. “Been a while.”
“Well, don’t hold too tight, but also don’t fall off.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “I said I’ve done this before.” He yanked on his helmet and got on the bike behind Bucky.
Almost immediately, the warmth from their proximity had Bucky relaxing back. He was comfortable on a bike. Used one every now and then when he’d been living in New York, but he hadn’t bought one in California so this morning had been a tense, cold ride. Sam was far from tucking his face against Bucky’s shoulder or anything, but his hands were under the jacket, warm and real through the material of Bucky’s henley.
Bucky hadn’t driven with someone behind him since before he shipped out and as he kicked the engine into gear, he had a moment of panic that he really was going to lose Sam on the ride over. But Sam’s fingers tightened in his shirt and he leaned a little closer, centering their weight better and Bucky had to let out a breath, shove his helmet on, and pull into the street without thinking about it too much more.
They got to the hospital without losing anyone or any limbs. For a few days before Christmas, the roads weren’t actually that bad. Or maybe Bucky was just one of those assholes who wove in and out of traffic so much he forgot that the rest of the city was at a standstill. That was very possible. But Sam didn’t complain as they climbed off the bike and pulled helmets free.
“When did you start volunteering?” Sam asked, surprising Bucky. He’d figured this was going to be a very quiet day.
“Uh, a little bit after I got back. I don’t know if you remember, but I ended up in the hospital for a few weeks with a blood infection. Fuzzy blood, or something. A nurse suggested I use my time for something productive, once I was mostly healed up and just in observation. And then I spent enough time around Steve that I just kept the habit wherever he went. It’s not like they’ve ever turned me away.”
Sam nodded. “My sister’s first was a premie. Like, two months early, premie. Little bit of extra love and attention and he was fine. Almost as tall as me now. But there were so many others that didn’t have half a town to cuddle with them and sing to them and hold them. Did the same thing you did, I guess. Spent so much time in hospitals that I figured an hour before or after a PT or group session, I could sit in that little room and hold someone and make it hurt a little less for a while.”
Bucky nodded, gnawed on his lower lip, and then glanced over at Sam. “How old are your nephews now?”
“Thirteen and eight.”
“Dangerous years.”
“Nah, at least they can talk now. You ever try to figure out what’s wrong with someone who just cries and screams?”
“Nah, not really. I always joke that I raised my sister, but we were too close in age for that to really be true.”
Sam prompted the doors to open for them. “My sister’s boys are good. Even when they get hormonal and shit, they’ll be good kids. I’m not worried.”
Bucky nodded and steered them towards a check-in desk instead of saying anything else. Hospitals were hospitals, as far as Bucky had realized. Sure there was an extra rule here, an extra form to sign there. The mazes of hallways got more and more creative every time he went somewhere new, but that was about it. Same shitty jello everywhere.
So neither he nor Sam spoke much as they were led to the NICU wing, washed their hands more thoroughly than Bucky had in a while, swapped shirts and jackets for soft gowns, and got settled in a small, comfortable room with gentle music playing overhead.
“I wouldn’t have taken you for a volunteer,” Sam said as their nurse left.
“I didn’t really mean to be. In one of the hospitals, the cardiology wing was right next to the NICU wing. You could hear the little crying all the time, especially overnight. Steve went in for a surgery, I figured I had experience with holding them, so I offered to take a few shifts. It’s nice. Even if they keep crying sometimes.”
“Nice when they fall asleep too. I always feel more accomplished getting one of them to settle down than I do with some of my PT patients.”
Bucky snorted but couldn’t offer a sarcastic comment because the nurse came back with two carts.
“These little guys are NAS babies, and twins. They like to hold hands, so don’t keep them too far apart,” she warned. “They’re very sweet boys and are almost at the end of their recovery, we hope.” She helped Sam then Bucky pick the babies up, walked them through how to hold them, just for safety’s sake, and then left them with an easy smile and reminder that there was a call button on their chairs and by the door.
“They were worried about my prosthetic the first time I wore it in,” Bucky said a few minutes later, when both his and Sam’s cooing and settled and the babies weren’t squirming quite so much.
“How’d you handle that?”
“A lot of demonstrations with baby dolls. Showing them I could handle weight or something moving. Dexterity tests. I’m lucky my prosthetic is as flexible as it is. It’s funny, because they weren’t so worried when I only had the one arm. Just kept a nurse in the room with me in case I needed help. Would hand me a baby who was asleep and not so move-y.”
Sam shrugged and smoothed his thumb gently over the bridge of the baby’s nose. “Different hospitals. Different people who didn’t know you. Clearly they didn’t need to worry.”
Bucky looked down at where his metal fingers were being held hostage by teeny-tiny hands and laughed softly. “Yeah, I guess not. Think they like the coolness. This always happens.”
Sam hummed and they sat in silence for a while longer. Sam began to rock the baby very carefully in time with the music playing overhead, shifting so he could cuddle him closer to his chest. Bucky didn’t regain his hand, but he was able to rub his thumb along the baby’s side softly.
“I didn’t know,” Sam eventually said. “I didn’t know you’d ended up in the hospital again.”
“Yeah, they figure I picked it up during the initial amputation, overseas. It just didn’t manifest or whatever, spread and shit, noticeably until I got back here. Then I was stuck doing blood work every single time I went in to an appointment.”
“I always wondered how Steve could be so okay with you appearing and then disappearing. I didn’t even ask.”
Bucky shrugged as much as he could. “It’s not really the kind of thing you think to ask about. The doctor’s didn’t even think to test for it until I started…well, let’s just leave it at that they didn’t think to test for it.”
Sam grimaced and Bucky felt more support in the single gesture than he had in the six months doctors apologized to him at biweekly appointments. “I was supposed to be your confidante at the hospital. I shoulda known.”
“I did quit your group in a pretty spectacular fashion. I wouldn’t have looked in on me either. Hospital didn’t set me up with anyone else either. Little bit of PT once the infection cleared, but that was it.”
Sam continued to frown, adjusting his hold on the baby as he clearly got lost in thought. They didn’t speak much after that. The baby in Bucky’s arms got frustrated towards the end of the hour and Sam shifted so his and Bucky’s knees were slotted around each other’s, holding the babies close between them. It settled the twins down a little, but the nurse still came in a few minutes later and resituated them in their crib carts and took them back to the nursery.
“Hey,” Bucky started before the next nurse could come collect them. “About yesterday, about the bitchfest about your partner… I’m sorry. I should’ve known better. I just…” Bucky trailed off, suddenly unsure of his own words. Of what they meant about him.
“You wanted it to hurt,” Sam finished.
Bucky cringed but nodded. “I’ve thought of a list of excuses the length of my arm, but none of them are real. I shouldn’t have said that, shouldn’t have treated you that way. I’ve always been an asshole to you. And some of it is founded, don’t lie, you’re an asshole too, but that crossed the line in a bad way. And I’m sorry.”
Sam nodded and slowly looked at him. “Maybe one day you’ll earn his story,” he said. “This is a decent step, but you’re not there yet.”
Bucky nodded too and looked down to his tangled fingers between his knees. “Fair. I would like to hear it one day. Any of it.”
Sam let out a sigh and only looked away when the door opened with a new nurse to lead them out, let them change and get their things, then to the front of the hospital again. As they were signing out, someone called Sam’s name. His head snapped up and then his whole posture loosened. Bucky had seen Sam posture a lot–his job kind of dictated it–but this was a real relaxation of his shoulders and back.
“Claire?” he asked as a nurse came down the hall towards them. “Hey, I didn’t know you were in Brooklyn.”
“I’m not. Just covering over the holidays,” the nurse said as she leaned over the nurses’ desk to dig in some papers.
“Hell’s Kitchen can afford to lose you at those same holidays?”
Claire scoffed. “Not even a little bit, but they really didn’t get a choice. Hey, this is for you. It came in the mail down in the Kitchen a few weeks ago. Addressed to me, but wanted to be delivered up here this week. Guess he thought I could find you even if you didn’t end up in a rotation around the boroughs.”
Sam took the proffered letter and raised an eyebrow at Bucky. “Thanks for keeping it safe. Promise I won’t make a habit out of it.” He taped the letter to his temple and Claire gave him a tired smile.
“Good, I’m not your carrier pigeon.” Something buzzed in her scrubs and she pushed her hand through her hair. “I’ll see you around, Sam. Stay out of trouble. I like you more beside the beds instead of in them.”
“I ain’t caused you no trouble in a long time,” Sam defended easily, smile dropping considerably when the nurse turned and hurried down another hall, shoulders bunching back up, back tightening.
“How could he have possibly known a nurse from Hell’s Kitchen was going to be working up in Brooklyn today?” Bucky asked, finally stepping up to Sam’s side.
“Well, she said he just asked her to deliver it. Maybe it was just serendipity.”
Bucky scrunched up his nose at the idea. “Go ahead, open it. Better to do it in here, where the heat’s on.”
Sam tore open the envelope and shook out two cardstock tickets then the letter.
“Oh, fuck off,” Bucky breathed, plucking them from Sam’s fingers. “This is for the skating rink we used to go to as kids. I bet you $4000 he says you have to drink the hot chocolate with peppermint. That’s his favorite.”
“That’s not a bet I need to take,” Sam assured him as he opened the letter.
“Sam and Buck,
“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it? Even you two may find there’s more that connects us than separates us. Here’s another thing. You’re both really good on a pair of skates. Sam, Bucky could memorize Jr. Olympic performances and skate them in a day. Buck, Sam just about flies off the ice, he’s so fast. I tried to get all three of us out at once, but it never worked out. Now you two don’t have a choice.
“PS, you have to take pictures when you both inevitably fall on your asses showing off.
“PPS, you HAVE TO drink the hot chocolate with peppermint. Don’t bother trying to recreate it throughout the year. You won’t ever get it right.”
Bucky sucked in a breath between his teeth. “In right under the wire,” he gloated and then preened when Sam rolled his eyes.
“I have to go to work today, down at the VA. The holidays are rough. But text me after five and maybe we can head out tonight,” Sam suggested.
It killed the fire warming Bucky’s chest just a little bit, but at least it wasn’t a straight rejection, which he figured he deserved at this point. Though this morning didn’t seem to have gone too horribly. He nodded and shrugged on his coat. “Sure. Let me drop you off at the office. Manhattan?”
Sam glanced out the door, at the dreary grey sky waiting to open up with fresh snow. “Sure,” he said with a nod. “I could use a ride.”
_______________________________
“Okay, I’ve been thinking about this whole thing.”
“Careful, Barnes, that could be dangerous for you. Stressin’ your brain out like that. The dust is gonna catch fire,” Sam warned drily.
Bucky took another bite of the funnel cake he’d bought a block back. Sam still wasn’t sure how he got it into the park when every ten feet there was a sign saying no outside food and drinks. “No, listen, he’s gotta have an accomplice, right? I mean…” He waved his cut ticket around. “You can’t buy these tickets a year in advance. Someone had to have bought them sometime since it opened this year.”
Sam shrugged and nodded. “Sure, that’s likely. Maybe whoever is sharing his storage unit.”
“Maybe,” Bucky agreed and went back to gnawing on the funnel cake. “Maybe they’re here, watching us.”
“That’s a horrifying thought. And unlikely. No one could’ve known we’d go today and not yesterday or tomorrow or even after the holidays. What if I’d gone down to Louisiana before I got the first letter?”
Bucky shrugged. “I dunno, man. I’m just sayin’. Besides, someone’s gonna have to give us the next letter here, right?”
Sam couldn’t argue with that. Instead, he looked around the park for the dozenth time, taking in the strings of looping lights and the vendor stalls warmly lit with yellows and oranges and space heaters. There was even a ferris wheel set up across from the ice skating rink, which was the brightest spot in the park, even including the massive tree down by the gazebo. The rink was too full for Sam to entertain the thought of strapping on skates yet, so he and Bucky were walking around aimlessly, avoiding stalls with pushier merchants and keeping away from all the bakery food trucks that seemed to keep multiplying.
“Why aren’t you in Louisiana yet?” Bucky asked as they jumped over a melted snow puddle to avoid a woman who very much wanted them to buy scarves.
“I don’t usually go down for Christmas,” Sam admitted. “I told you, it gets pretty busy at the VA, phone’s going off constantly, I mostly just end up irritating Sarah. I go down for the New Year though. Being around family helps with the–” He waved his hand around his ears. “The fireworks and all.”
Bucky shot him a knowing look and hummed. “I don’t like them either,” he assured. “But I mostly just use earplugs and keep a pillow over my head.”
“Wow, you really aren’t receptive to anyone’s therapy, huh?”
Bucky snorted and knocked his shoulder into Sam’s. “Are you still taking that personally? I told you up front it wasn’t you, it was me.”
Sam laughed and shook his head. “Just what every man wants to hear.”
Bucky grinned at him and looked over at the ice rink. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”
“Have you skated recently?” Sam asked.
Bucky shook his head. “Not since before I shipped out.”
“Oh, so you might be off balance, is what you’re saying.”
“Hey, any excuse for why I’m not gonna live up to the hype.”
“Well, he did say Jr. Olympic routines.”
“Oh, right, really takes the pressure off.”
They glanced at each other and broke into quiet laughter. “Don’t worry,” Sam said, “I won’t be very good either. I haven’t skated without my nephews holding onto me in years. Don’t know what I’ll do without all the extra weight.”
Bucky smiled softly and Sam ignored how warm it made his chest. The Wilson boys were the one soft spot he’d found in Bucky’s armor in the two years they’d known each other. For the first fifteen minutes of any given interaction, when they were still being civil to each other, Bucky always asked after them. Knew their birthdays and texted Sam to tell them happy birthday from him, even though they’d never met him. Sam knew Bucky had a sister, but she didn’t have kids. Sam had a feeling Bucky had adopted Sam’s nephews as his own from afar. Surprisingly, it had never upset Sam. He was happy to add someone to the boys’ corner, even if he personally thought that someone was the most irritating someone on the face of the Earth.
He followed Bucky to the stand for renting out the skates and then out to the rink. It had cleared some, but not enough for Sam to stop feeling self conscious as they took the guards off the skates and stepped onto the ice. He thought about forgoing the wall, even though his legs were shaking enough he was surprised his knees weren’t hitting each other, but Bucky beelined for the wall, so he felt less bad as he glided over too and gave his legs a chance to adjust.
“My ass is gonna hurt so much tomorrow,” Bucky said, leaning an elbow on the wall like he was just hanging out and not hanging on.
“And your hip flexors. What was it you said the other day? We’re old, Barnes.”
Bucky laughed and nodded. “We are old. This is a young man’s game.”
Sam had to agree, though he wasn’t particularly thinking about skating. He was thinking about Steve playing matchmaker from beyond the grave, sending Sam and Bucky on the most cliche dates imaginable. New bikes, sexy coats, winter wonderland outings. He couldn’t imagine what else he had in store for them. In all the days Steve had talked about how much he thought Sam and Bucky would get on like a house on fire, he hadn’t suggested an actual date for them.
Across the rink, two kids shrieked as they took each other down onto the ice, laughing as they tried to find their feet under them again. Sam glanced at Bucky and grabbed his wrist before pushing off of the wall and dragging Bucky behind him. At least Bucky didn’t dig his heels in. He did shout at Sam and then crash into him when Sam stopped several feet from the wall.
“What was that for, Wilson?”
“Can’t live your life holding onto the wall, Barnes,” he said with a grin, skating backwards for a beat or two before circling around Bucky.
Bucky turned with him but didn’t start skating. “Actually I can.”
“You never have before, as far as I know.”
“It never was gonna result in me on my ass in front of two hundred other people,” Bucky pointed out.
“You’re not so special that anyone’s looking at you,” Sam said. He almost lost his balance dodging out of someone else’s way but kept his feet under him. He moved further from Bucky. “Come on, you’ve gotta use those thighs of yours.”
“Oh, my thighs?” Bucky laughed as he shakily started after Sam. “You look like you painted those pants on.”
“Do not,” Sam argued as he looked down at his jeans. They just fit well, was all. They’d fit better if he stopped thinking about Bucky’s thighs.
That was the kick of it all, wasn’t it? Steve was right. Sam and Bucky did get on like a house on fire when they weren’t talking. There was just so much talking involved in everything.
“Wait, Sam–” Bucky started, reaching out a hand. Sam looked at Bucky at his warning and therefore skating right into someone behind him and went down hard on his tailbone. “Sam!” Bucky tried again, but by the time Sam looked up, Bucky was tripping over Sam’s legs and landing hard on Sam. Sam gasped in air around laughter and aching ribs.
“Get your knee off my thigh. I think you just, like…pressure popped an important vein.”
Bucky groaned as he shoved himself off of Sam’s chest, pressing even harder against his ribs to do so. “I think I broke my nose on your forehead.”
“Oh, whatever,” Sam laughed, reaching over to turn Bucky’s chin this way and that. “It’s not even bleeding.” He finished sitting up and rubbed his hand over his thigh. “But you seriously bruised my leg.”
Bucky examined a scrape down his arm from the zipper of Sam’s jacket. “Don’t wanna hear it.”
“Come on.” Sam heaved himself up with the help of Bucky’s knee, and offered his hand down to Bucky. “Can’t stay down there.”
“Down here is much more comfortable than up there.”
Sam rubbed at his tailbone. “You’re telling me. But you’re gonna cause another pile up. So–” He waved his hand down at Bucky. “Let’s go.”
He hauled Bucky to his feet when he finally took Sam’s hand and then rubbed his hand over Bucky’s shoulder. “Your prosthetic good?”
Bucky barked out a laugh. “Yeah, actually. I don’t ever think to use it when I’m falling. Always default to the other side.”
“Well, it’s an expensive limb to break.”
“No shit.”
“But, also, I think you defaulted to your knees on this one.”
Bucky smirked at him and tugged on Sam’s jacket. “That’s my best default position.”
Sam rolled his eyes and pushed Bucky away, but let him keep holding onto his jacket so that Sam had to follow. “For someone so afraid to get off the wall, you seem to have found your legs again.”
Bucky shrugged and turned as he skated backwards. “Got the first fall out of the way. That’s always the worst one.”
“You might be right on that one.”
“Oh, shit, someone call the papers,” Bucky laughed, turning them so Sam had to skate backwards. Sam shifted to hold onto Bucky’s forearms and evened their bodies so they were skating closer together. “You ever skated with someone else?”
“Nah, not like this,” Sam said. “Growing up in Louisiana, you don’t get many opportunities to ice skate unless you went out and found a rink somewhere. Other, easier, Christmas things to do around town.”
“Not up here either?”
“Haven’t dated around up here.”
“Is this a date, Wilson?”
“You’re holding my waist,” Sam pointed out.
“Making sure you don’t end up on the ice again.”
Sam rolled his eyes and skated faster. “Think you can do a jump?”
“Not until you do one,” Bucky laughed, loosening his hold on Sam’s jacket, gesturing for him to go ahead.
Sam glanced over his shoulder and executed a decent enough 360-ish backwards spin. Bucky wolf whistled and then skated into something closer to 540 degrees, though he just about went down to one knee on the landing. Sam skated back to him, while Bucky was the one stuck going backwards, though that only lasted a few more moments before Bucky evened out to skate next to him.
Despite both landing jumps, they fell three more times skating in circles. Finally Sam begged off on getting up again, after they’d crashed into the wall avoiding a group of kids who didn’t know how to stop.
“We still have to find that hot chocolate,” he reminded Bucky as they both struggled back to their feet.
“Oh, shit, right. Are you ready to never enjoy another hot chocolate in your life?”
“It’s that good, huh?”
“I dream about it while I’m in California.”
Sam laughed but then looked at Bucky. “You did move.”
Bucky jumped up on the wall of the rink to pull off his skates. “Yeah, after the new year. Needed to do something different. There wasn’t much left for me here, at the time that there was so much left it was drowning me.”
“Right,” Sam said, yanking off his skates. “Besides, who can afford rent on a two bedroom alone.”
“Didn’t mind the rent,” Bucky said, then paused. “Well, I would’ve eventually. It was just that I could still hear all those machines no matter where I was, no matter how long it’d been since the hospice people took it away.”
Sam faltered for a second before he put his hand on Bucky’s arm. Bucky leaned into the touch for a second before plastering on a grin. “Come on. Let’s get our shoes back and find some hot chocolate.”
Sam didn’t let go of Bucky’s arm.
_______________________________
The letter was waiting at the bike, tucked in the saddle bag. Sam sipped truly the best hot chocolate and stood shoulder to shoulder with Bucky while they both stared at the envelope. Both of them seemed to have come to the saem conclusion that searching for an accomplice was useless. They’d been in the park for hours and there were hundreds of people coming and going. Finally Bucky stepped forward with a sigh and pulled the letter free.
“Sam and Buck,” he began reading. “I thought about mailing this to you, letting you get a few extra hours to sleep off the bumps and bruises of the night. But who trusts the postal service so close to the holidays?
“How close are you to Christmas now? I tried to give you enough time but I don’t know how long you dug your heels in the dirt to avoid each other. I hope you at least saved a little bit of time for this, ‘cause the drive-in isn’t open on Christmas night. Which is weird, ‘cause lots of people go see movies on Christmas.
“I can’t be sure what you’re gonna see, but I have a feeling it’s gonna be good. I do like all Christmas movies, though, so I think they’re all good. For Sam’s sake, I hope it’s not the Grinch. Maybe it’ll be Miracle on 34th St. and you can see Bucky cry.”
Bucky looked up at Sam. “You don’t like the Grinch?” he asked, clearly a ploy to make Sam forget the last line of the letter.
It didn’t work. “You cry watching Miracle on 34th St.?” Sam shot back. “Keep reading.”
“Take Sam’s truck instead of the motorcycle so you don’t end up frozen to the seats. I know I’ll never hear the end of it if I give you pneumonia. Jeez, who runs a drive-in in the middle of winter in New York, huh? Anyway, the truck will be good.
Have fun, be safe, stay warm. Steve.”
Bucky held up another post-it and Sam took it then groaned. “This is halfway out of the city. I don’t even have friends or patients who live in this zip code.”
“Well, we’ll have to get an early start tomorrow,” Bucky said. “Are you working?”
“Early PT shift in Manhattan,” Sam said. “On call for VA stuff the rest of the day, but it’s only the 23rd. There should be other people in the office.”
“Good, come back with me tonight and I’ll drive you in to work tomorrow. Head over to your place. Swap out the bike with the truck. Why the hell do you have a truck in New York City?”
“It’s my truck. It’s been mine forever. I wasn’t gonna leave it behind,” Sam defended. “It’s good for driving down to Louisiana.”
Bucky hummed and folded the letter up. “Come on, my hotel is a little further into the borough.”
The snow was beginning to fall too heavily for Sam to really argue. Besides, he was sore and cold and the thought of trying to get back to Manhattan in a building storm was more than he wanted to deal with. He took Bucky’s mostly empty cup with his to throw away and then climbed onto the back of the bike.
Bucky celebrated just a little bit as he got his helmet situated.
They were able to beat any sudden downpour to the hotel’s garage. Despite the dark skies and tumbling clouds, the snow hadn’t really picked up. It just sat at that awkwardly heavy stage. Just enough to be irritating and verging on dangerous when they were out in it, but light enough to trick people into, in fact, going out in it.
Sam was still cold and he was more than happy to get into the hotel with Bucky, rather than chance out-running the storm to Manhattan. The hotel was nicer than he was expecting. He wasn’t sure what Bucky was doing with his time in California. Actually, he wasn’t sure what he’d done with his time in New York. He’d kind of assumed he hadn’t worked, but that didn’t make sense over two years. But this place suggested whatever he was doing was working for him.
“How long are you in town for?” he asked while they waited for the elevator.
“As long as it takes to get all these letters collected,” Bucky said with a shrug. “Rented the room for an extra week after that first day.”
They stepped into the elevator and Bucky sent them up to the sixth floor. “I have missed this. Being in the city and all,” he said, leaning back against the wall. “California’s nothing like New York.”
“No, I’d imagine not. How’d you decide on the West Coast?”
Bucky shrugged. “Kind of wanted sunshine and beaches.”
“Gulf of Mexico is warmer,” Sam pointed out.
“There’s an idea,” Bucky agreed. “I’ll go romance your sister into marrying me and move to Louisiana.”
Sam rolled his eyes and elbowed Bucky’s ribs. “I was thinking Texas, actually. Maybe Florida. You’re old enough to move to Florida.”
Bucky laughed and shook his head. “Too many tourists. Spring Breakers and shit. No thanks. And Texas is way too hot. The prosthetic would melt.” He nudged Sam when the doors opened. “You can take the bed. I’ve been sleeping on the couch anyway. Fall asleep watching TV and all.”
Sam didn’t believe that one bit, but he didn’t argue with Bucky. He was too tired. He leaned against Bucky’s side as Bucky checked pocket after pocket for his keycard. And if Bucky let his chin rest on Sam’s head for a second, he let that pass without comment too.
“You mind if I use your shower in the morning?” he asked when Bucky finally got the door open.
“Nah. Need a shirt or something?”
“No, it’s alright. I keep a bag at the hospital anyway.” Sam dropped his helmet on a table by the door and shrugged out of his jacket. Bucky was there to catch it before Sam could pull it around himself. He hung both the jackets in the closet and peeled out of his henley, leaving his compression top on.
“C’mere,” Sam said, gesturing over.
“I don’t have to take it off,” Bucky said, even as he stepped closer.
“The way you hit the ice tonight? You need to give your body a rest.”
Bucky scoffed, but lifted his arms to help Sam get the compression top off, relaxed as Sam worked his sleeve down and delicately began to unattach the prosthetic from its socket.
“If this is what it’s like to have a PT in my day-to-day life, I’m gonna have to reevaluate,” Bucky joked, setting the prosthetic aside on the table and digging for the cap to the socket.
“Oh, yeah, how awful to have someone care about you,” Sam agreed sarcastically. “Where’s your scar cream?”
“Bathroom, in the black bag,” Bucky said. “It’s got Vitamin E oil in it.”
“That makes sense,” Sam said, ducking into the bathroom and finding the jar of cream. He sat on Bucky’s left side on the couch where he’d put himself and gently massaged cream into the scars around Bucky’s shoulder. After a few seconds, Bucky shifted enough to drop his head back against Sam’s shoulder.
“What’s the prognosis, Doc? Am I gonna live?”
Sam ran his fingers down Bucky’s ribs, massaging out a knot on the backside. “You’ll probably live.”
“What about the speedo round in the Mr. America contest? What are my chances of winning that now?”
Sam smirked and rubbed the back of Bucky’s neck. “If I remember right, they’ll be a lot more distracted by the speedo to even notice your shoulders.”
“Don’t say that, I work hard on my upper body strength.” They grinned at the same time and Bucky turned to look at Sam from his shoulder. “Thanks for this. I can’t remember the last time I put this much effort into cleaning it up.”
Sam smoothed his thumb over the back of Bucky’s shoulder and rested his cheek against his head. “You should take better care of yourself.”
“You’re one to fucking talk,” Bucky snorted, turning his face towards Sam’s neck. “I ain’t never seen you take two seconds for yourself.”
“It’s my job to take care of other people.”
“You ain’t on the clock all the time. I like it when you get mad and tell some situation to go fuck itself. I like it when you refuse to share food, even when you get extra ice cream and know you’re not gonna eat it. I liked it when you told me to keep freezing my ass off outside while you got ready.”
“I coulda taken half an hour,” Sam said. “And, trust me, you didn’t freeze it off, it’s still there. But I get it, I get it.” He sighed softly and shifted his cheek on Bucky’s head.
“You should get to sleep,” Bucky said suddenly, letting go of Sam’s arm he’d wrapped around his waist. “That’s your next step to taking care of yourself.”
Sam tucked his arm back around Bucky’s waist. “Let me stay here for a second longer. You’re really, really warm.”
Bucky hummed and scooted over when Sam pulled one leg up onto the couch, shifted so they were laying across it, Bucky between his legs. Bucky wrapped his arm around Sam’s thigh. “Fine, but your other rule for taking care of yourself is that you can’t kiss me.”
“You kissed me last time.”
“Did fucking not.”
“Did fucking too.” Sam dropped his other arm over Bucky’s chest and leaned back against the couch. “But I promise I won’t kiss you. Keep telling you, you ain’t that special.”
“Sure I’m not, Wilson.” Bucky dropped his head back against Sam’s shoulder and closed his eyes. They fell asleep to the evening of each other’s breaths.
_______________________________
“You can’t be serious,” Sam said, staring at the little information card they got at the gate.
“He could not have planned this,” Bucky said. “He said he couldn’t have planned it.”
“And yet.” Sam shook the card around.
“I hate this movie.”
“Not as much as I do.”
“But…” Sam started, killing the engine. “Since we’re already here.”
“We might as well stay,” Bucky agreed. “We packed all these blankets and shit. Dug out that space heater.”
They hadn’t talked much that morning. Sam had showered, like he was promised. Bucky drove him back into Manhattan like he had promised. There was no mention of the fact that they’d woken up tangled together and sore on the couch. It had taken most of the morning for the neck-crick-headache to ease out of Sam’s brain. It made sense for Sam to pass over his key to Bucky. No sense in him driving all the way back to Brooklyn if they were going to leave from Sam’s place. It made sense that Sam got home to find Bucky passed out on his couch, prosthetic off, cream on. (“What, it’s not like I’m driving tonight.”)
It was unreasonably warm for how much it had been snowing. They’d woken up to the pit-pat of ice melting and by the time Sam was walking home, the roads were clearer than they had been since Thanksgiving. The storm that had been brewing last night seemed to swell to a breaking point and then just disappear. It left Sam’s phone dinging in new weather reports every two hours and had him deciding they could probably take some blankets and a small space heater and lay in the bed of the truck to watch the movie.
40 degrees was probably enough to have Sarah bundling the boys into little puff pastries of fluffy jackets, but in New York, the day before Christmas when Sam and Bucky had to be outside, it was just about a climate change miracle.
Bucky grabbed the blankets and climbed out of the truck to start laying the heavier ones down in the bed, standing on the wheel to do so. Sam got the space heater set up on his toolbox so they didn’t light the blankets or their hair or jeans on fire.
“I mean, should you even consider it a rom-com?” Bucky asked, back to the movie. “It’s definitely a tragedy, like all the way through.”
“You’ve got me,” Sam said, holding up one hand in surrender as he adjusted the vent direction of the heater. “I’ve never gotten the appeal of it. Sarah loves it, but I think mostly she likes Hugh Grant.”
“What kind of movie makes Alan Rickman the bad guy?”
“Uh, most of them?”
Bucky sucked on his teeth derisively. “And the whole Kiera Knightley/Andrew Lincoln thing?” He made a disgusted sound. “If someone pulled that shit on my sister, I’d kick his ass.”
Sam laughed and jumped into the back of the truck, adjusting the blanket and helping Bucky in. “Yeah, it didn’t age well. But people still love it.”
They laid back in the bed of the truck, shoving pillows together and leaning against each other. Bucky got his arm under Sam’s head and Sam kicked a leg over one of Bucky’s. They fought to get a blanket shared equally over them and then opted to add a second blanket. (“Your shoulders are too damn big, Barnes.” “I’m literally down an arm right now.”)
“None of the phone calls from the people on board were messages of hate or revenge,” Bucky said along with Hugh Grant. “They were all messages of love.”
Sam smiled over at him. “I've got a sneaky feeling you'll find that love actually is all around,” he finished. “Are you gonna quote this whole movie even though you hate it?” he asked.
Bucky shrugged, jostling Sam’s head until Sam scooted closer to his chest. “Are you?”
“Well, it is one of the most iconic opening lines ever,” Sam pointed out. “It’s understandable that we know it.”
“Of course,” Bucky agreed.
And it was Bucky who started cackling first at incredibly off color jokes, so Sam didn’t feel too bad when he joined in every now and then. There was plenty of bitching in between the laughing and, yeah, maybe they both quoted lines back and forth, groped at each other’s chests during John and Judy scenes, and generally disproved their hatred of the movie.
“You should stay at my place tonight,” Sam said as the characters piled into Heathrow from various entrances. “It’s only fair since you let me stay over last night.”
Bucky pulled Sam closer to his chest, tangled their legs more, and tried to shove a pillow further under his head with his shoulders. “Oh, well, as long as you’re doing it out of obligation and not ‘cause you want me around,” he teased.
“Nah, this is just to settle a debt,” Sam assured with a grin. “I still can’t stand you. You’re a pain in my ass.”
“I distinctly remember you being a pain in mine, actually,” Bucky said.
“Too bad I’m not supposed to kiss you.”
“Yeah, you really shouldn’t.”
“I won’t,” Sam promised, pressing his face into Bucky’s shoulder, letting his nose warm up some before he got his arm around Bucky’s waist. Bucky wrapped his arm around Sam’s back too, rubbing at his ribs. The field went dark as the reels switched over to a new movie and Bucky took a second to breathe in deeply, close his eyes and try to focus on the cool air against his cheeks instead of the warm press of Sam’s body along his.
He didn’t have to exhibit much self control because as soon as the familiar sting of music started the next movie, Sam was up in a flash, grabbing the blanket he’d mostly taken and the space heater as he climbed back into the truck.
Bucky looked unimpressedly at the movie screen and the climbing mountains and the Dr. Suess trees and the Dahoo Dores music. “Unbelievable,” he breathed as he bundled up the other blankets and jumped out of the bed. “You cannot hate a children’s movie that much,” he said as he dumped the blankets in the backseat.
“Yes, I can,” Sam insisted, resolutely staring ahead.
Bucky rolled his eyes with a fond bloom in his heart, crossed to the bed again to lift the tailgate, and then got in the passenger seat. “Hey,” he said halfway through putting his seatbelt on. “There was no letter here.”
Sam frowned and looked at the movie card they’d gotten when they’d paid to get in. There was no hint or clue on it for where to go next. No one had stopped them by name or hidden anything on the truck windshield. “I’ll ask at the gate,” he offered. “Maybe it’ll come to my apartment.”
“Yeah, I hope it didn’t go to mine. It’ll be on its way to California.”
Sam grimaced and carefully pulled out of the parking space they’d taken. They stopped at the gate but no one knew their names or had any kind of note for them. Bucky reached over to hold his hand across Sam’s tight knuckles on the wheel, but it was the wrong direction and he had to sit back when they started driving again.
“Like you said, maybe it’s waiting at your place. We didn’t check the mail before we left earlier.”
Sam rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes as they rolled up to a stop sign. “I hope so. I kind of don’t want this to end. It’s been a little fun.”
Bucky smiled softly and dropped his head back against the headrest. “Yeah. I always forget I can just go out and do Christmas shit on my own as an adult. Always feel like there should be a group or kids or something.”
“Well, maybe you shouldn’t go see Santa without kids,” Sam pointed out with a forced grin. He was tired and frustrated, Bucky could tell, but he didn’t know how to set it right. He wondered if this was how people felt around him all the time.
“I dunno, I saw that Santa hat in your kitchen. I could sit on your lap all night.”
“Mmm, I’m so not giving you what you want.”
“Sweetheart, even when you don’t, you do.”
Finally, a real laugh escaped from Sam’s chest and Bucky sat back, more than pleased with himself. “I know that’s not true. You were such a pillow princess.”
“I was deeply wounded and vulnerable that night.”
“You came onto me.”
“I did not. You’re vastly misremembering the order of events.” And were they really doing this? Were they going to talk about that night like adults? Or, at least, as adult as they got around each other? It seemed dangerously healthy.
“No way. You and me were the last two at the church and you got all up against me while we were packing flowers into the truck.”
“Oh, shit, it’s the same truck,” Bucky realized.
“Yeah, I only have the one,” Sam agreed. “Sure, I brought you home, but you made the first move.”
“Okay, I kissed you in that little hall thing. But you were the one who kept grabbing my hand during the service.”
“You were crying!”
“ You were crying!”
“Of course I was,” Sam said. “And of course you were. And I was comforting you. Like a good person.”
“You kept rubbing your thumb over the back of my hand. You put your arm around my shoulders during the burial.”
Sam grunted. He had done that. “Putting an arm around your shoulders is not the same as making a move.”
“You took me home,” Bucky argued.
“You were gonna take my clothes off in a parish hall.”
“I wasn’t even thinking about it.”
“Liar.”
“Okay, I thought about getting your shirt off. Maybe getting your pants open. But I woulda at least gotten you back to a hotel or something before getting you naked naked.”
“Ha, so you were planning on taking me home too.”
Bucky’s eye twitched and he frowned. “No. Besides, if I had taken you to my place, proper, we probably wouldn’t have had sex.”
“Probably would’ve cried some more.”
“Probably,” Bucky agreed.
“Why can’t I kiss you now?” Sam asked. And the thought that Sam wanted to kiss him did all sorts of swoopy things to Bucky’s stomach but he’d spent three years convincing himself not to feel those things where Sam was involved.
“Because it didn’t work out the last time. It won’t work out this time. Besides, I’m way over in California and you’re here and we’re only hanging out because we’re being co-haunted.”
“Making it easier on our ghost best friend,” Sam suggested.
“Exactly. Our holidays are already ruined for the rest of forever. There’s no reason to add more agony onto it.”
“Well, we could give Love Actually a run for its money.”
Bucky snorted and looked out the window. “I don’t want to. I just want you to be happy. That probably involves being far away from me.”
He felt Sam’s eyes on him, saw him start to ask a question and then stop several times. “I still want you to stay with me tonight. And actually sleep in a bed. You’re gonna fuck your back up sleeping on the couch for the rest of your life.”
Bucky glanced over at Sam for a second before he nodded. “Alright, alright. But don’t you put none of those moves on me.”
“Yeah, yeah, I promise not to hold your hand,” Sam said, drawing an X over his heart.
If Bucky had had his left arm on, he would’ve reached over for Sam’s hand anyway. He could do with a little bit of comforting seduction. Or at least a tether that this wasn’t going to be the end again. That they weren’t going to get lost without letters to keep them close to each other. Bucky was beginning to think, to hope, that they didn’t need letters to tell them what to do. That maybe they could just be with each other in their own way.
______________________________
It had been a really good day, even if Sam was heading down to the mailbox every hour. He and Bucky had woken up, close enough to be warm but not so close that they were jarring each other. They’d exchanged gifts of bodega bottom shelf alcohol and over-priced chocolates and watched TV in between checking for new letters. And they hadn’t so much as snipped at each other.
Sam supposed they were probably building to this, Bucky stalking after him down to Central Park, calling after him that he couldn’t go running in the middle of a rainstorm on Christmas, and Sam deciding he was going to anyway because he was mad.
“Sam, just give it a rest!” Bucky called, grabbing his sweatshirt sleeve. “It’s too cold for this. You’re gonna make yourself sick.”
“How is it so easy for you, Barnes?” Sam snapped, batting his hand away. “How can you keep giving up on him over and over? This is just looking for some stupid letter and you don’t even want to do that.”
Bucky frowned at him, brows drawing down, hurt and blindsided. “I didn’t give up on him. This isn’t giving up on him. This is making sure you don’t give yourself pneumonia.”
“You gave up on him. You disappeared for weeks at a time. Showed up long enough to get his hopes up and then left again. What were you doing? What could’ve been so important?"
“Nothing. I wasn’t doing anything. I just… I wasn’t the guy he thought I was anymore. I didn’t want to hurt him. I didn’t mean to hurt him! I was…I was trying to protect him from what I’d become.” Bucky grabbed Sam’s arm again, pulled him back to face him. Sam didn’t want to look at him. He wanted to be angry and stomp around in the cold and maybe run a few miles until the noise in his head stopped.
“What you’d become?” he asked incredulously. “Sullen and funny and smart and alive ? Do you know what I’d give to have gotten Riley back? And there you were, alive as the day you left and you kept leaving him!”
“I wasn’t anything like I’d left! There was a reason that stubborn little asshole wasn’t disconnecting wires and shit and following me out the door. You didn’t know me before. You didn’t know what I was like. You don’t know what they took from me.”
“It doesn’t fucking matter! He needed you!”
“I was there, Sam! I’m the one who stayed in that apartment and took care of him and handled the nurses! I’m the one who watched him take his last breath! I held his hand while he died!”
Sam’s fingers spasmed in the shoulders of Bucky’s jacket, like he wanted to let go but couldn’t make himself step away. “You came just in time for it all to be over. Yeah, I remember, Barnes. I had to get to his apartment ten times a day to make sure he was okay because you weren’t there for three weeks after they moved him out of the hospital. I looked at his phone. He called you before he called me every time for a week! Where were you?”
“I was there,” Bucky repeated. “I came back.”
“You came back to say goodbye. You came back and he was gone.”
Bucky’s jaw strained and his arm twitched and Sam thought for sure he was about to get punched in the face, but Bucky just stepped forward, brought his arms around Sam’s ribs and hugged him tightly. “I’m sorry, Sam. I miss him so fucking much. I should’ve come back sooner. I should’ve been here. I was just so scared. And now he’s gone and none of that shit matters anymore.”
Sam drew in stuttering breaths, anger and pain warring in his chest. Slowly, his arms came around Bucky’s shoulders and then he was clinging onto him too, clutching at his jacket and stepping even closer. The rain continued to fall heavily around them. Everything was soaked through. Drops were dripping from Sam’s eyelashes, though he didn’t think they did much to hide the tears they mingled with.
“I miss him too,” he breathed. “And I’m so tired of saying goodbye. Every time I turn around, there’s something else. This entire scavenger hunt has been one long journey into the past. A new raw wound with every letter. And you… I’ve wanted to say goodbye to you for so long. Since just about the moment I met you. I wanted you out of my life, out of my brain. And then we fucked it all up. We slept together on the day of his fucking funeral. We’re probably really bad people for that. And I thought for sure that was going to be it. You didn’t reach out again. I didn’t see you around. And then he brought you back to me and I…I can’t be done with you, Bucky. I can’t say goodbye. If I don’t find this letter, I’m not just losing him and all this pain I’ve been using as some fucked up guide line. I’m losing you too.”
Bucky pulled back, shaking his head, and held Sam’s face in his hands. “No, you’re not. I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here, Sam. You just say the word and I’ll do whatever you want. Or…we can work it out. Together. That’s probably healthier. I don’t live my life based on directions from year-old letters. Not normally. I’m not gonna disappear because carrier pigeons got distracted in this fucked up weather.”
Sam laughed wetly and looked up at the sky, the rain looking like stars as they hit the colorful lights of the park. “I can’t believe it’s fucking warm enough to rain instead of snow on Christmas,” he hiccupped.
“You’re telling me. Y’know…” Bucky looked at Sam again, brushed a thumb over his cheek. “It may not be some cliche kiss in the snow, but I think Steve would’ve found this a lot more romantic anyway, since it’s not what we usually get.”
Sam snorted and leaned into the touch on his cheek. “What about you, though? How romantic do you think it is?”
“I think it’s fucking cold,” Bucky said. “And I think I’m soaked through to the bone. But you’re here, so I guess I can’t complain too much.”
“Bullshit,” Sam said with a tired smile and leaned in to kiss him. Bucky kissed him back.
_______________________________
Tucked away in the storage unit, with specific instructions not to be delivered until an opportune moment, like a wedding or an important anniversary, there was an envelope with a note in it that simply said:
Sam and Buck,
I told you so. And you are so very welcome.
Love always, Steve