Aimee

Bucky hears the floorboards in his bedroom creak as Rue gets out of bed. The benefit of a prewar apartment, aside from its familiarity, is its built-in alarm system.

Naturally, Bucky had taken the couch and given her his bed. Even after her weak argument of her being smaller than him, therefore, it only made sense for her to be on the couch. He’s pretty sure she only relented because he lied that she could have the couch the next night.

(Neither of them approached the idea of sharing the bed. The thought of it made his blood sing.)

Having Rue in his home has been… strange. He’d never really had company at his place, friend or lover. It was foreign to him to share a meal or a drink, to sit on the couch together, to have small talk about their days. It would be uncomfortable, if it wasn’t Rue. Her commentary, her jokes, her laugh made the uneasiness of socializing dissipate.

(The way her eyes lingered on him for a second too long or the way she leaned against him on the couch brings a life to his apartment that it’s never felt before. This apartment is his home, but he’s never felt at home… until now.)

Bucky hears the door to his bedroom open, so he pretends to sleep. The TV is still on, muted, and its glow lights her steps to the bathroom across the apartment.

He wonders if she had even fallen asleep. He’d heard her twisting and turning. To him, that would be normal, to struggle to fall asleep in a new place, but she’d been still for a while before that.

When she leaves the bathroom, he pretends to wake.

“Are you all right?” He sounds like he’d been sleeping, his throat dry and gravelly.

“Shit,” she hisses, hand over her heart. He hadn’t meant to startle her. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“Light sleeper,” he cuts her off. She lingers in the middle of the living room, awkwardly shifting her weight from one leg to the next, avoiding his eyes. He sits up and cautiously asks, “What’s wrong?”

“No, no - I just…” She plays with the hem of her sweatshirt. It’s red, with Santa Claus’s face, and beads that are sparkling in the low light. It looks old, by the stretched neckline and loose threads. “I had a weird dream, and I don’t want to go back to sleep just yet…”

Her confession seems to make her more comfortable, so he pats the seat next to him. When she hesitates, he sighs.

“I’m already awake, so–”

“Bucky, I’m sorry–”

(Rue is usually unapologetic about who she is and what she does, and seeing this side of her makes him wonder if her boldness is a facade. He wonders what she was like before she built this shell around her. He thinks about the dismantling of his own armor and hopes that he can do the same for her as she has for him.)

“We can watch another Christmas movie,” he offers gently.

He watches her deliberate for a moment then disappear into his room. Bucky sighs, resigned, until he sees her struggling to carry his bedding into the living room. Rue settles on the opposite corner of the couch, and he watches her swaddle herself, burying her nose into his dark green duvet. She’s oddly quiet as he flips through the channels, but he knows she’s awake by her hummed interest when he stops on A Christmas Story.

“Mikey and I used to watch this list every year,” she mutters after a few minutes. “A Christmas Story, How the Grinch Stole Christmas, Frosty the Snowman, The Santa Clause, It’s a Wonderful Life, Elf, Die Hard…”

“I’ve seen that one,” Bucky interrupts. He looks over to Rue, expecting a smile, but he sees tears welling in her eyes. He wants to reach out, but he’s not sure if that’s what she’d want.

“Rue…”

“I know this is stupid…” she prefaces.

(He hates to see her belittle herself like this. He knew what it felt like to feel small, but Rue is so expansive, so vastly vibrant, these words that cut her down make him want to embrace her and never release her. Not until she sees herself the way he sees her.)

“It was a tradition, for me and Mikey, to have sleepovers the week before Christmas, and watch these movies together before bed. Even when we were on our own.”

“Until he moved out,” Bucky guessed.

“Yeah.” Her voice is brittle. “And it was okay because I usually had a partner during the holidays, but this is the first year…” She wipes away rogue tears. “And, with Vick being gone, I can’t even ask her–”

“This is the most complicated way of asking me to sleep with you.”

(The way her eyes widen in panic makes Bucky laugh in a way he hasn’t laughed in a long time. Even the joke felt risky in his own ears, but the payoff was worth it.)

“James Buchanan Barnes,” Rue says, through gritted teeth… and a smile she can’t control. “That is not what this is.”

“I’m hijacking the pity party,” he says, referencing many nights ago when she’d called him drunk and vulnerable. “You’ll have to shut the party down if you want me to sleep with you.”

“Bucky, please,” she’s embarrassed, and it’s so endearing, “I’m not asking for that, I’m just saying–”

Bucky stands and stretches a little. He feels her eyes on him. He finally offers a hand, and she reluctantly takes it, after a long, hard stare at him, telling him he doesn’t have to do this. He wants to. She gathers his duvet around her like a train, and he helps, trailing behind her, until they reach the bed.

Despite his bravado, they both stand awkwardly at the foot of the bed, deciding the practical arrangements.

“I usually sleep on the left side of the bed,” she offers.

(He usually sleeps on the floor, but he can’t admit that now.)

He nods, and they get into the bed. Bucky considers if he even needs a blanket, but when Rue offers some of the duvet, he takes it. It’s a small gesture, but it means something. He feels the heat of her body next to him, even several inches apart. She snuggles into the pillow and opens an eye to peek at him.

(He vaguely thinks that this queen sized bed is not conducive to sleeping platonically.)

“Are you sure this is okay?” She stifles a yawn at the end. He can tell she’s already relaxed.

“We’ve done this already,” he reminds her. At her curious look, “A few weeks ago, you called me...”

“...and we fell asleep on the phone,” she remembers. He doesn’t say he didn’t fall asleep, and she continues, “I was very drunk that night.”

“I know.” She shoves him, poorly holding back a smile, but yawns again shortly after. “Okay, okay, now you should go to sleep.”

“I’m not tired,” she whines a little.

He can’t help but to smile. “Go to sleep, Ruby.”

She smiles back, eyes blinking long and slow. “Good night, James.” 

////

Bucky feels more… alive in this wintry morning, feeling the cold give him energy. Or maybe it was knowing who’s waiting for him in his apartment.

Bucky left a note on the bed next to Rue in the morning. It tells her that he’d gone to get breakfast and that he’d be back soon. He’s never left a note before, for a woman. He wonders if it was okay to do that, to leave her alone, sleeping in his bed.

(Throughout the night, it seemed like Rue had found her way across the few inches between them, just enough that her ankle crossed over his. The subtle contact seemed like a sign of trust, of comfort, and Bucky was full of an emotion he couldn’t name.)

In the bakery shop, he has small talk with the young man behind the counter, taking his order. Bucky had wondered aloud what bagels Rue might like, and the cashier gave him some suggestions. Bucky took all of them, buying half a dozen bagels, and hoped one would be the one. He ordered them coffee, bought a newspaper, and tipped the young man generously.

“Happy holidays,” Bucky had said, unprompted, as he left the shop. The sound of his own chipper tone shocked him a little, but he decided it was new - but good.

(Not new, he realized as he walked home. His confidence was a relic of his former life; this is who he used to be, before the war. It felt rusted but right. His confidence had been warped by his ability to fight and destroy; now, he feels the old ways of what had made him feel human.)

When Bucky returns to the apartment, he notices the bed is empty, but he hears the shower running. He sets the bag of bagels and tray of coffee down and notices the bathroom door is ajar. It straightens his spine, at the possibility of danger, but he sees the quick flash of Rue’s red sweater being pulled over her head.

He knows it is a violation of her privacy to spy on her through the open door. Her back is toward him, and he sees the bare tanned skin of her back. She steps out of her sweatpants, revealing her red underwear, and when she pulls those off, Bucky finally averts his eyes, throat tight and face hot.

His phone makes a sound, and he swears to himself.

“Bucky?” Rue calls out. He cringes, wondering if she knew he was peeping. “Bucky, are you there?”

“Yes,” his voice sounds funny in his ears. He hopes he sounds casual. “Yes, I’m back.”

“Great - I forgot a towel. Could you get one for me?”

He is grateful for the task and finds himself lucky for having two bath towels. He normally would just have the one, but this had come in a pack.

(He had bought things like towels when he was buying furniture with Chris. When Chris suggested the two-pack of any item, Bucky had protested. Now, he was thankful that Chris didn’t listen to him.)

Bucky turns his face away as he extends the towel as an offering to Rue. He hears her relieved sigh, as she thanks him. He hears her get into the shower but knows the door is still slightly open.

Bucky prepares a bagel for himself and drinks his coffee. He sits at the table, reading his newspaper, like he does every morning. It may not be bagels every morning - he did not want to be predictable, in the event any one is surveilling him – but this was his routine. Despite the paper open in front of him, his eyes can’t focus on the words.

He wonders what they might do today - together. Bucky obviously has never had the opportunity to entertain this thought. What do couples and families do all day together during the holidays? Bucky knew Rue would like to continue watching movies, but what if she gets bored? 

Growing up, his family didn’t spend all of their time together for Christmas. They spent Christmas Eve at church, Christmas morning opening gifts around the tree, and the rest of the day with their respective friends and neighbors. At the end of the day, the Barnes family invited the Rogers family for dinner, and they would spend the rest of the day together, one big happy family.

Bucky’s thoughts switch back to Rue as the shower turns off. He can see the steam wafting out of the bathroom, but he quickly averts his eyes when, again, he sees a quick flash of skin. He turns an unread page in the paper as Rue rushes across the apartment, in her towel, to his bedroom, shutting the door with a slam.

(Rue is very naked in his room, he knew, and it sends a wave of lust rushing through him that he fights to restrain.)

“Don’t hate me,” are the first words out of Rue’s mouth when she comes out of the bedroom. She’s dressed in a pair of black pants, a long sleeved shirt, and a festive vest over it. “I got called in to help at Waterway. I know, I know,” she continues, even though Bucky had made no effort to say anything, “I know I’m supposed to be off today, and I should have said no, but I know Henry, and he wouldn’t not come in if something wasn’t wrong.” She’s pulling her hair up into a tight bun as she talks. “Henry’s mom has been sick for some time, and I’m worried something might have happened to her, and I know he would have my back if–”

She finally notices the breakfast on the table and pauses. He sees the panic on her face, that she had ruined his nonexistent plans, before she can speak.

“It’s okay,” Bucky interjects. He hands her the iced coffee, ordered just the way she likes, and says, “I understand. When will you be back?”

“Three o’clock, the latest, I promise.” It sounds like she’s promising herself more than him. “Thank you for the coffee and bagels,” she says in a gentler voice. “I didn’t bother you last night, did it?”

(Bucky had been almost alarmed by how unbothered he was by sharing the bed with Rue. The bed still felt too soft for sleeping, but he found himself relaxed next to Rue, who had fallen asleep quickly; he focused on her deep and even breathing until he also fell asleep.)

He answers honestly, “No.”

“Good. Because I’ve been told I snore,” she begins counting on her fingers, “I hit people in my sleep, I talk in my sleep, I can hog the covers–”

“Rue, it was fine,” Bucky chuckles a little. “Did you sleep better?”

Her animation subsides to something more abashed. She nods, and he smiles.

“I’m going to have my bagel to go,” she says, reaching into the bag, and frowns. “You bought so many.”

“I didn’t know what kind you liked so I bought one of each.” 

The way she looks at him makes him think he had made the wrong move or misinterpreted her in a way that might have offended her.

“That was really sweet of you,” she finally says, quietly. “I would have been good with anything, but…” She pulls out a bagel that looks more savory than sweet. “I think I’ll have this one. Thanks, Bucky.”

He smiles and offers to prepare it for her. She seems grateful, saying something about makeup, and disappears back into the bathroom. He toasts her bagel and puts the cream cheese on it. He takes his time to wrap it in foil, then decides to wrap it in newspaper, like his mother would have for him. He doesn’t know if that is the method in the present day, but it gives him a taste of home, like Rue has these past few days.

“How do I look?” Rue stands in front of him, hair now in two braids and wearing green eyeliner; she puts her hands out and waggles her fingers.

“Cute,” Bucky replies, honestly. He sees his word affect her, but she covers it with a curtsy while holding her braids. He laughs. “Even cuter, now.”

“Stop, you’re making me blush,” she swats at him with the end of her braid. He can tell she is actually blushing. “And you’re gonna make me late for work!”

She rushes to put on her jacket and looks around for her purse. Bucky meets her at the door, offering her the wrapped bagel, his only key, and her iced coffee, which she takes a quick sip of, and then, with the ease of habit, she tiptoes to give him a peck of a kiss.

They both stand there for a beat, a little shocked and a little awkward, before Bucky lifts her chin and kisses her deliberately. Nothing fancy, just like the kiss in the snow, but it means more now. It lays on top of all the layered affection they have been exchanging over the past weeks. He feels her lean in more, but he pulls away.

“You’re gonna be late for work,” he teases, voice like it’s a secret. 

(His heart is beating wildly, a little embarrassingly fast for a chaste kiss. He wonders if she can tell.)

“Yeah.” Her eyes linger on his mouth, and she bites her lip. Her gaze flits up to his, and she says, “I promise I won’t be any later than three.”

He grins, knowing it wasn’t really up to her. “I know.”

“You’ll save some of that for me?” she asks, hopeful and cautious.

(It’s funny how she flirts without abandon, when it doesn’t mean anything, but these words that are meant to be saucy are delivered with such pause.)

He grins and nods.

“I’ll be here.”

////

“Fancy seeing you here.”

Bucky decided to attend a grief support group, knowing that the closest one to his apartment was having a holiday celebration. He gets the texts. He’s outside the room, studying the refreshments table full of cookies and doughnuts, and opts for coffee.

He turns to the female voice behind him. He immediately recognizes the receptionist from Dr. Raynor’s office, Greta. While they never really interacted, the two of them being here at the same time is… odd. Rue has talked about her a few times, rarely in a good light; he knows Greta has come across harsh, maybe cold. Her blonde hair is uncharacteristically loose from its usual bun, and she’s wearing a pink puffer jacket. She looks soft and disarming. She gives him a commiserating smile.

(He feels a little claustrophobic. A little… paranoid. The dormant part of his Winter Soldier brain thinks she’s a spy, that she’s been sent here to intercept him. He finds his metal fingers flexing in his coat pocket.)

“Uh, hi.”

“Sorry, if it’s weird to come up to you,” Greta says. He’s never seen her appear meek; she was mostly composed and aloof. “I… I don’t know anyone here, and it’s kind of my first time here since…”

(Seeing tears well in her eyes makes his fight or flight reflexes calm down.)

“My mom passed away earlier this year,” Greta finally says, “and my dad lives in a different country, and I broke up with my girlfriend last month, so…” She finally meets his eyes, sheepish and tearful, before coughing out a laugh. “Sorry for dumping that on you - that’s so inappropriate.”

“No, it’s okay.” Bucky reaches out and puts his hand on her arm. She seems surprised by the contact, but he’s glad she doesn’t shrink away. He decides to say, “I lost someone this year, too.”

(He knows she knows who he is and who he’s lost. He’s grateful she doesn’t belittle his contribution by telling him she knows.)

“It’s hard, going on without them,” she finally says. He watches her lip tremble, but her voice doesn’t.

“They would want that for us.”

Greta laughs, genuinely, and says, “My mom wouldn’t want me to be happy - she’d want me to miss her every day.” She pulls some tissues from her pocket. “And I do. But you’re right, I have to live my life, too.”

(Bucky thinks Steve would be glad that he is living his life, despite not having his best friend. Even when Steve was alive, he’d be upset when Bucky visited, wondering why a young man was visiting an old man. Visiting the past when he was able to have a future. Bucky thinks about that a lot.)

“Rue is going to be so jealous when I tell her I saw you.” Greta is pouring hot water for tea. “Don’t tell her I said this, but I think she has a crush on you.” Bucky can’t hide his smile. Greta glances over and laughs. “And I’m guessing you have a thing for her, too, huh?”

Bucky doesn’t know what to say, so he shrugs, still smiling. They stand for a moment, savoring their warm drinks, before Bucky says, “I’m not really good at coming to these things.” He gestures inside. “Sometimes, they… they make me remember.”

Greta nods, holding her cup close to her chest. “I’ve only been to one, and I had to leave early, because I was crying so much.”

(It feels like a mutual understanding, they appreciate the company. Bucky feels like, this time, having someone he knows there will keep him grounded. Even if it’s someone he barely knows.)

Bucky hears the leader of the group calling people in. He looks to Greta, who looks a little scared. He offers her a sympathetic smile and nods his head to the door. They walk in and find seats in the back.

“Don’t judge me too hard if I can’t make it through,” Greta whispers to him. He hears how uncertain her voice sounds.

“I won’t,” Bucky agrees, “but I think you can.”

He feels her hand grip his forearm briefly, but she doesn’t take her eyes off the speaker.