December 23rd, 2027

What does one get a witch for Christmas?

Bucky hasn't the faintest idea. He'd searched the internet, scrolling through pages of lotions and candles, window shopped on his way home from the gym. He even texted Client, the texting alone taking over half an hour, asking what the man normally got his wife.

CB: Laura doesn't like flashy things, she prefers memories over items.

Bucky didn't know what to make of that, so he didn't respond.

Memories over items. Like photographs? Didn't that still count as an item? Rebecca had always claimed to hate Christmas, but when the time came, she'd always gifted something impossibly thoughtful, like she'd peered into your brain and knew it was something you'd been hoping for.

Bucky wished he had that gift.

The few Christmases he had spent in the service had been mostly uneventful. No gift giving, sometimes a haphazard tree had been erected and the guys would gather around, drinking and cheering to the Christmas before.

During those years he'd always wished there was a girl he could send postcards to back home, a girl he could visit when he was on leave. But then he'd remember how dangerous his situations were, and how unfair that would be to any person, and he wasn't a selfish person.

Christmas wasn't even a thing when he was with Hydra.

Out of all his Christmas', he never thought he'd be spending one with her; but she wants to. She's already deciding on what she's going to cook, for just the two of them, and she's busying herself by writing down a list. Her handwriting is large, loopy, and she's rushing, her excitement nearly palpable as she sits across from him at his dining table. His laptop obscures his view of her, scrolling hopelessly, his anxiety growing by each failed attempt at finding a gift she'd enjoyed.

"Do you like sweet potatoes?" She asks, head bent. "I've heard that's a typical American staple for Christmas dinner."

"Don't cook too much, lord knows you don't eat a lot." He chuckles. Her head shoots up, his only indications of that action is her red hair bouncing, lines etched on her upper forehead.

"Bucky Barnes," she warned, but her tone was laced with joy. "I have never experienced an American holiday like this. Are you going to strip me of that possibility?"

He rolls his eyes at her dramatics, bringing his coffee mug to his lips. "I'll strip you of something else."

She leans to the right, giving him a scrunched narrowed look to indicate she heard his raunchy remark. Pulling back to her position, she resumes writing.

"Just you wait, solider." She mutters, and he surpasses a laugh. "This will be better than any Christmas your mother would have cooked for you."

He huffs into the cup. "That'll be easy to accomplish."

Her pen scratching pauses, can hear her shuffling slightly. "I take it your family didn't celebrate?"

Bucky flexes his fingers, places the cup down. He's glad the laptop is obscuring her from view slightly.

He didn't want to talk about this, he didn't want to unbury the dead, especially to her. She already carried so much, she didn't need his weight.

Wanda sits up, her face in view now, green eyes questioning, and he clenches his flesh hand. His nerves grow as the silence stretches on, and she's patient, waiting for his response. Glancing up, he catches her expression, and he feels a knot grow in his throat. Lips raw, he's biting down hard.

"Not really." He replies eventually. Wanda seems to let out a breath. "My sister did, a little."

Pushing the chair back, he stands from the table with cup in hand, leaving to the living room. She calls after him, but her voice is echoy, like she's calling through water, and he sits gingerly on the couch, like he's aching. Like he's old.

His throat is tight and he wishes he'd died from that fall off the fucking train. It was a simple question for fucks sake, and he was unraveling. Its natural for people to want to know things about you, your family or your job. One mention of his semi-abusive mother and he's having trouble focusing.

But its hurting. He can't remember a time when Christmas was good, purely good, a time when Christmas meant just joy. No fighting, no gun powder, no narsocitic let downs.

Just joy.

And he wants it with her, badly, but only her. He wants to remove the edges of his mother and the war from christmas time, and repaint it with her cooking in his kitchen, wearing those dumb fuzzy socks she loves so much.

His jaw aches from clenching.

"Buck?" Her voice is soft, pleading, and he screws his eyes shut. Her hand is on his shoulder, pressing lightly. "Honey?"

She'd just recently started calling him that; it makes him feel warm. He quickly got used to it.

He reaches up, grips her hand from his skin and gently pulls it away. "I'm fine," he mumbles, releasing his hold. "Just not a big mommas boy."

Even the phrase sounds odd in his mouth.

Wanda inhales slowly, and then she's shoving his crouching arms back, crawling into his lap, resting her backside on his left thigh. Cupping his face, she looks at him, and he blinks rapidly, hoping there's no wetness there.

"That's ok," she says, her breath ghosting over his face. "Conversation for another day yeah?"

"Yeah." He responded, hoping that day would never come.

"Listen, I know it's...hard," she says, and he can tell she's watching her words carefully. "to move on when there's so much hurt surrounding certain days. But, if your mother took so much from you before, don't let her continue." She strokes the side of his face. "Don't let her keep taking it away."

He stares at her, teeth still picking at his lip. He's lost for words, in awe of her yet again, and his heart is hammering within his ribcage.

"There's no one i'd rather spend the holidays with," she whispers, smiling, and pecks his lips. He leans forward, trying to catch them again, but she backs away with a small laugh.

"I'm not a big Christmas fan," he teases, pulling her back, holding her on him. He spreads his fingers over her back, pressing his digits into her skin, and inhales. "but I can be into anything if it's with you."

And now he's standing in the cold December air, a knitted hat snuggly warming his ears as his breath blows out and he searches for the perfect tree.

He'd never had a Christmas tree before, so a part of him was excited. The other part of him was irritated that he wasn't snuggled in bed with her, feeling her smooth skin against his, and instead freezing his ass off for a tree that would eventually die.

Scouring the woods two hours away from his apartment and his girl is not how he had planned to spend the day before Christmas eve, but she had asked and therefore, he would do it. He searches for a while, peering between sticky pine needles at the base of trees, shaking them slightly to test their sturdiness. They're all decent, full of color and tall, but none quite right.

Until there's one.

It's a dark, mossy color, its tip not just one end but a collection of sharply shaped branches that twist into one, and when he presses his metal hand to it, giving it pressure, it merely stands, not budging.

Bucky grins, switching the ax in his grip from one hand to the other, and when he begins the process of cutting it down, his brows sweating and back aching, he thinks of her.

It amazes him how strong she is, after all the heartbreak. Bucky can't imagine, and he's grateful. Grateful for her strength, grateful that something as stupid as christmas brings them closer. He wants to peel back her layers, learn everything about her, and as the months trudge on he's been able to learn more and more, and he's so grateful for her in his life he smiles as he chops.

They decided to have the tree in her apartment, an idea she came up with but he heartily agreed with. He didn't want to deal with the fallen pine needles littering his floor and her apartment seemed so hollow soemtimes, it was no wonder she was nearly always at his. A tree might brighten the mood, make the space feel more homey for her, and he hopes she likes his pick.

The drive back to her apartment is quick, his excitement to see her making the time go faster. He still hadn't decided on a gift for her, and wondered if he even needed a gift. Of course he needed a gift, but a gift didn't have to be a material item, isn't that what Clint said?

All thoughts of presents and christmas are discarded as he pulls into her apartment parking spaces, and is greeted with a dark, unmarked car parked in his guest space. Bucky swerves his car against the back end of the other vehical, jumping out before he can turn off his ignition.

Hes through the door, hand already gripping the knife he keeps in his boot, silently taking in the surrondings. She's talking, her voice low, but it doesn't sound distressed. Entering the kitchen quickly, he surveys.

"Calm down, James."

Clint gives him an incredulous look. A teenage girl with dark hair pulled into a pony tail is beside him, her lip is cut and she's got a bandaid across her brow. Her eyes are wide as she takes in Bucky with a knife.

"Oh my god you're the Winter Soldier!" The girl squeaks, a hand raised to her mouth. Leaning against the sink with her arms crossed, Wanda looks from the girl to Bucky, and finally to Clint.

"This, is the girl?" Clint's flabbergasted, and Bucky rolls his eyes, putting the knife back into its hoslister.

"Barton." Bucky replies, as way of greeting. The girl sticks her hand out, a goofy smile stretching her features.

"I'm Kate, Kate Bishop," she says happily. "I'm his partner."

"Thought you didn't do partners." Bucky muttered, ignoring her hand. What was he doing here, bothering Wanda so close to the holidays? Didn't he have a wife of his own to bother?

"I didn't," Clint replied. Kate lowered her hand in disappointment, her cheeks pink. "I wouldn't even count Nat as a partner. This is my friend Kate, she's coming with me to see the family for Christmas."

"Great, fantastic," Bucky huffed, crossing his arms. "What're you doing here?"

Wanda seems to be shaken back to life, and she pushes herself off the sink, moving to stand beside him, and snakes her hand into his. His chest blooms.

"He was just leaving," she says, tone icy. "Right, Clint?"

Clint raises a brow at her, but doesn't object. He nods his head, and Kate follows him out the kitchen into the foyer. Bucky places a chaise kiss to her hairline. "Be right back, trees in the car and I may have blocked their room to reverse." Wanda gives him a look, knowing full well why he did that, but there's humor in her eyes and he winks.

After reversing his truck, Bucky watches as Clint puts their car in drive. He rolls down the window, sticking his head out and Bucky shoves his hands in his pockets. Clint stares for a moment, sucking the side of his cheek, and for once Kate looks quiet.

"Has she ever talked to you about Westview?"

But you're trying to act like my husband and you aren't. My husbands dead. Thanos killed him, and then SWORD took him, and I can never see him again.

"Sure." He keeps his answer short, and while it's not overly detailed, it is true.

"Did she tell you about what happened?" Clint presses, arm on the window rim. "Did she tell you about her kids?"

The air is suddenly very thin.

"Figured not." Clint hums, then looks forward. "I would tread lightly with her. If she likes you, she'll eventually tell you but...be patient. And be aware."

Bucky wants to ask him what he means, and why he knows information about her that Bucky himself does not, but the marksman closes his window, speeding off into the winter air, snow flurries brushing up in his wake.

Inside, Wanda is pacing, the corner of her index finger nail lodged between her teeth, nipping at it. Bucky drags the tree inside, propping it against the wall. The air is thick with unknowing, and he stares at her as she stares at the floor.

"You wanna tell me what that was about?" His tone is harsher than he meant, cooler, and she fidgets.

"He's just checking in, stopped by since I'm on the same route to his farm." She looks up then, takes in the tree, then looks at him. "I think he's taken over Steve's mantel of worrying about everyone."

Bucky raises a brow. No, he had taken over Steve's mantel of worrying about her. Only her, the world could go fuck itself once again and as long as she was safe, he'd watch it.

"That's all?"

Her eyes find him, and he hardens his look. She's nervous, throwing him another smile but he doesn't waiver.

"Wanda."

"I don't know what you want me to tell you." She's frustrated now, raking her hand through her hair. Takes a few steps, planting herself infront of him. "Please don't let this ruin christmas." The pleading in her voice is soft, fearful.

He needs to drop it. For the sake of Christmas, the sake of her sanity. She deserves a break, she deserves to enjoy the holidays.

So he does. They erect the tree together, hanging plastic shiny bulbs from the branches, Wanda wrapping a silky blanket around the ugly-colored base. She puts in premade cinnamon rolls to bake while they string the lights, turning on her radio and flipping it to the channel that plays strictly holiday music from December 1st to the 31st. The sugary smell wafts through the apartment, and they ice them together, devouring them as they watch the Christmas special of I Love Lucy.

They laugh at the bad comedy, kissing between sugary bites, and its wholesome, a simple bliss he'd never had the chance to claim for himself. It's real happiness.

Cleaning the dishes, they wash their sticky hands and sweep the pine needles, getting momentarily distracted by each other's lips. He dumps the dust pan in the waste bin, watching as she puts away the dishes and she's thoroughly happy. He's happy she's happy.

So when he kisses her goodnight, not staying over because he has an early round of training, he wonders why his heart isn't settled.

"Thank you for today," she whispers as she pulls away. "It was...fun." He grins at her, hands loosely on her butt and he gives her a light squeeze. She pulls away with an eye roll, peeking through the crack in the door as she blows him a kiss.

Bucky tosses all night, before eventually making himself a cup of coffee at two in the morning, settling down in front of his desk top, and types Westview into the search bar.