Chapter Text
Sarah is rarely if ever inclined to take advantage of having a brother who’s a superhero, and she definitely doesn’t often ask her superhero brother’s superhero partner for any big favors. Unless of course he’s in Delacroix being very blue-eyed and charming and earnest about his desire to help out, because he is after all a super soldier and he is super strong, and it’s only practical to ask him to move heavy things around. If that happens to offer Sarah an opportunity to ogle his gorgeous broad shoulders and the graceful muscles of his back, and on particularly blessed occasions, his thick thighs and cute ass, well, that’s just—oh lord, she’s off-track already.
The point is, Sarah is not the kind of person who’ll exploit a family connection for personal gain. Could she have improved the Wilson Family Seafood business by adding obnoxious Captain America branding all over the place? Yes, she most certainly could have. Has she done that? No, she has not, and only partly because it would be beneath the supposed “dignity” of Captain America, and also she’s pretty sure someone else owns the rights to all that and she’d get sued.
No, Sarah’s got principles, and she’s not going to use a connection to the Avengers for her own sake.
She is absolutely gonna use it for the sake of saving Christmas though.
Unfortunately, Sam is away on a mission with Torres and Colonel Rhodes and while he’s assured her he’ll be back home in time for Christmas, he’s not back yet. That leaves Bucky, who’s currently benched on account of being less than a week out from unspecified arm and/or brain maintenance that had involved surgery—Sarah hadn’t been clear on what all that had entailed, only that Sam had been pretty worried about it while Bucky had been blasé, and that now he’s back from Wakanda with a clean bill of health though he’s not cleared for duty yet. She’s pretty sure he’s well enough to help her out with this little problem, judging by his aggrieved responses to Sam’s nagging in their group chat.
So Sarah calls Bucky on Facetime, and he answers quickly, his expression immediately concerned. His eyes always look especially big and blue on a phone screen. That distracts her enough that her “Hi!” is awkwardly delayed.
“Hey, Sarah, is everything alright?”
Right, dammit, she usually texts first if she’s going to call him, and she usually doesn’t call in the middle of the day. She smiles at him, hoping it looks reassuring and not crazy.
“Oh, everything’s fine—I mean, it isn’t, but we’re all safe, don’t worry.”
Bucky’s brow furrows as his eyes scour her face for an answer. “Is there an emergency or something? I can be there in a few hours, or I can have Wong portal me in—”
“It’s an emergency, but not an emergency emergency,” hedges Sarah. “I know you’re supposed to come down here when it’s closer to actual Christmas, and I know you’re on medical leave, but would you mind coming early? We’ve got a bit of a situation here, and I could use some help.”
“Of course I can come earlier if you need me,” he says without hesitation, that worried furrow still on his forehead.
“Are you sure? If you’re not feeling well enough—”
Bucky snorts. “I’m fine, I’ve just got PT to do, and Shuri wants a couple weeks of data from my kimoyo bead to make sure my nerves are playing nicely with the port in my arm again,” he says, then grimaces. “Honestly, the cold up here isn’t doing my arm any favors, so it’s probably better for me to be somewhere warm anyway. Now tell me what’s up, or I’ll spend the whole flight worrying.” He glances off-screen with a cute frown. As if his smiles aren’t enough of a problem, he also looks cute when he frowns. “Also I gotta know how many weapons to pack.”
Exposure therapy, Sarah reminds herself. If she looks at his dumb, beautiful face often enough, she’ll get used to it. Granted, this has not yet happened after half a year, but whatever. Sarah is an adult and she can handle having a crush, no matter how inconvenient and embarrassing it is.
“You won’t need weapons…probably,” says Sarah, and Bucky raises an alarmed eyebrow at her. “How much did Sam tell you about Delacroix’s Christmas traditions?” she asks.
“Just that you guys go real big on Christmas and that it’s really special,” he says. “Not much more than that, he said he wanted it to be a surprise.”
While it’s awfully sweet of Sam to try to maintain some sense of holiday magic and wonder for Bucky, it’s not super helpful to Sarah at this particular moment. Not that she especially wants to ruin the sense of holiday magic and wonder for Bucky either. She’d been the one to invite him to Delacroix for Christmas, and he’d told her, with heartbreaking shyness and politeness, that it’d be the first Christmas he was properly celebrating this century and to please let him know about any of their traditions he ought to honor. At which point both Sarah and Sam were immediately and intensely afflicted with their late parents’ profound holiday derangement, and became dead set on giving Bucky a proper Christmas to remember.
“Oh, I definitely still want it to be a surprise, but I’m willing to spoil part of it for you in the interests of saving Christmas,” she says, and they share a grin. His cheeks go very slightly pink. At least, Sarah thinks they do. It could just be the camera. The sight distracts her for a couple seconds that feel way too long, and she briskly continues, “So, Delacroix does a Christmas boat parade. Mostly it’s just folks decorating their own boats, and we have a little parade around the island one night, a few days before Christmas.”
“That sounds nice,” ventures Bucky.
“It is! The head of the parade though, that’s its own special boat. Back when I was a kid, they fixed up an old boat with a Santa and all, because maybe Santa rides a sleigh in other places, but here in Delacroix, we don’t exactly get snow, so obviously Santa’s gotta have a boat.”
“Obviously,” says Bucky, and they share another grin.
“The decorations on that boat have gotten more and more involved over the years, and by now there’s lights, and this amazing life-sized carved Santa, all kinds of stuff. Honestly, it’s getting kinda hideous, but it’s festive, you know? And it’s the one part of the Delacroix Christmas parade that’s non-negotiable.”
They’ve had the parade even after all manner of disasters, and even if the parade ends up being only two boats strong, one of which is the Spirit of Delacroix with Santa on it, it’s still the Christmas parade and they’re still going to do it.
“It’s an important tradition, got it. I’m guessing something’s happened to it though? Has the boat broken down, does it need fixing or something, like the Paul & Darlene?”
“I wish,” Sarah says grimly. “No, it doesn’t need fixing. It’s gone missing. The whole damn boat. And it is not a small boat. I need your help to find it.”
Bucky blinks in surprise. “Huh,” he says, and then, as if to himself, he murmurs, “That’s a new one.” Before she can ask what he means, he continues, “Yeah, sure, I can help. But if I’m gonna catch a flight, I gotta leave now.”
“Of course. Text me your flight details when you’ve got ‘em, I can come pick you up from the airport.”
“Oh, you don’t have to—“
“It’s the least I can do if you’re coming to help me save Christmas.”
Bucky laughs, and his smile tilts into a devastatingly rakish angle. “Saving all of Christmas, huh? I’m not usually that kind of Winter Soldier,” he says, and now Sarah’s laughing too.
“Not quite your usual gig, I know. Maybe it ought to be though, just add a Santa hat to your uniform.”
Now Bucky laughs in earnest, long and sweet and a bit goofy with it in a way that makes him look boyish. It really is a marvel, how he can go from broodingly handsome to adorable like a puppy. And it’s practically impossible not to laugh right along with him, charmed and helpless with it. Sarah comforts herself with the knowledge that she’s not the only one so affected—Sam is immensely smug and delighted on the few occasions she’s seen him win a laugh out of Bucky, and Bucky’s laugh is at least 15% of the reason he’s managed to charm so much of Delacroix.
He damn near twinkles at her, and it’s just like that first day at the dock, him looking at her with those bright eyes, his attention and appreciation so direct and earnest that she hadn’t even known what to do with herself.
“You know what, maybe I will,” he says.
Sarah gives Bucky more details on the crime on the drive back from the airport. She’d very nearly sent him right back to New York out of sheer mortified guilt when she saw he was still favoring his left arm and shoulder, because good god, she cannot be dragging the poor man away from his post-surgery recovery just to help her track down a stolen boat. But he’d assured her that he’s fine, just a bit sore around the site of his recent surgery and the port for his prosthetic, though to Sarah’s eye, he’s looking a bit thin too. She silently resolves to feed him up properly, even if nothing else comes of this trip.
In the truck, she fills him in on more of the details about the disappearance and apparent theft of the Spirit of Delacroix.
“We keep the boat in a warehouse by the marina most of the year,” Sarah tells him. “No point in leaving her docked outside where she’ll get a ton of wear and tear just from the elements.”
“I’m guessing most folks know where the boat’s kept?” asks Bucky.
“Maybe not the exact warehouse, but yeah, more or less. Not like it’s a real busy port, you know? There’s the usual amount of security on the place, locks and all that, but that’s all.”
“Security cameras?”
Sarah snorts. “Oh, there are a couple security cameras on the building, but it turns out they might as well be just for show. They haven’t been recording in years.”
“How long’s it been missing?”
“Can’t be sure,” admits Sarah. “Carlos checked on the warehouse earlier this month and it was still there, but since then…no way to tell.”
“A boat’s a pretty big thing though,” says Bucky with a thoughtful frown. “You’d either need to haul it away on a trailer or get it in the water, and then you’d need to find somewhere to hide it.”
“You’d need to haul it out on a trailer no matter what, the warehouse isn’t right on the marina, it hasn’t got a boat ramp down to the water or anything.”
“It could still be nearby,” Bucky suggests.
“Yeah, so I maybe did some looking around of my own—“ Sarah keeps her eyes determinedly on the road despite sensing Bucky’s surprised stare, and continues, “—just taking a quick look into the other warehouses nearby, but no joy.”
“Just a look?” he says, and when she risks a sidelong glance, she sees his lips curved up in a crooked smile, his eyes crinkling as they sparkle with mischief.
“No B&E involved,” Sarah informs him, and then, with a surge of idiotic confidence, she winks at him. “Just my charm.”
To her delight, Bucky’s cheeks go very slightly pink before she has to focus on the road again, such a happy flutter rising in her that she’s surprised she isn’t floating off the driver’s seat. God, he’s too cute. It’s a problem. Exposure therapy or no, you’d think she’d be used to his ridiculous good looks by now, but no. Every time she sees him, she notices some new, lovely thing, and oh, look, there’s another: his eyelashes, thick and long enough that she can see the sweep of them from here.
“Any chance this is just some kinda misunderstanding?” he asks. “Like, someone took it somewhere for repairs?”
“That’s what we thought at first, but someone would’ve come clean by now if so.”
Bucky hums. “True. Any suspects then?”
“Not really, no,” says Sarah with a sigh. “We’ve quietly gotten the word out, just in case someone tries to sell the boat or scrap it, but no luck there so far.”
She hates to suspect anyone in the community, but even apart from that, she can’t think of anyone who’d steal the boat other than maybe some teenagers pulling a prank, and she can’t really think of any other reason to steal the Spirit of Delacroix at all. A boat isn’t exactly an easy thing to steal for cash. And while the more feverish part of Sarah’s imagination is screeching things about Grinches and Christmas ruiners, her more sensible self knows that there is no such thing as the War on Christmas.
“Maybe this is a stupid question, and I’m happy to help no matter what, obviously, but is this something the local cops should be handling?” Bucky asks tentatively.
Sarah shakes her head and grips the steering wheel tightly. “More likely than not, this is just some kids pulling a prank or some other kinda thing that’s more mischief than crime. I don’t want anyone getting killed over it, and with cops…well.”
That’s always the risk, and it’s not one she’s willing to take, nor is it one she’s inclined to explain. Thankfully, Bucky seems to understand.
“Yeah,” says Bucky with a grim sigh, before a complicated kind of expression flits over his face, settling into a darkly wry smile. “You don’t want anyone getting killed over this and yet you’re asking a former assassin for help?”
For a few too-long seconds, Sarah’s stomach drops down to her toes, and she’s sure she’s just really stepped in it with Bucky, but when she risks looking, there’s still a spark of mischief in his eyes even amid the shadow of bleakness, even if there’s a somewhat grim set to his smile. And well, she’s not about to judge him having a somewhat dark sense of humor as a coping mechanism. Lord knows Sarah’s indulged in her fair share of gallows humor herself these last few years.
So she laughs, relieved when that turns Bucky’s smile more pleased than grim, and says, “Yeah, sure, who better?” she says. “Honestly, I’m holding out hope that as soon as the culprits realize an Avenger is on the case, they’ll just bring the boat back.”
Bucky nods, arranging his face into a stern and serious expression that’s relatively rare when he visits Delacroix, but common whenever Sarah sees glimpses of him superheroing on TV or in photos.
“Hopefully, yeah,” he says. “And hey, I bet one publicly broadcasted ‘I’m disappointed in you’ speech from Sam will do the trick if it comes down to it.”
Sarah snorts, shaking her head. “You know, it just might. He gets that from our daddy. Pretty much any time either of us got up to any mischief when we were kids, we’d end up ‘fessing up to our dad on account of his ‘I’m disappointed in you’ and ‘I know you can be better’ speeches.” She casts a quick glance his way. “Actually, I bet you’re not half bad at those either.”
“Yeah, no, I’ll stick with my strong suit of being scary and menacing, thanks,” says Bucky wryly.
Sarah doesn’t think that’s his strong suit, actually, but as he looks very good at being that too, judging from the bits of footage she’s seen, she won’t complain.
They head straight back to the house rather than to the marina, since it’s getting into late dinner territory.
“We can start investigating tomorrow,” Sarah says as they go inside, and Bucky nods agreeably.
“Where are the boys, anyway?”
“Oh, they always spend the first week or so of their winter break with their dad’s parents in Georgia,” says Sarah. “I miss ‘em like crazy, but it gives me a chance to do all the Christmas prep, so it works out. They’ll come back with their grandparents next week, and then we’ll all spend Christmas together.”
Bucky turns in a slow circle as he takes in the living room and kitchen.
“I can see why you need time for Christmas prep,” he says, looking at the big Christmas tree heavily laden with ornaments, the pine garlands and wreaths, the tinsel, the strings of lights, the stockings on the mantle, the nativity scene…yeah, okay, his wide-eyed expression is entirely fair.
“My parents were very into Christmas,” says Sarah. “I am also, um, pretty into Christmas.”
One of the stockings on the mantle has Bucky’s name on it. She can tell when he realizes that because he goes entirely still, which, oh no. Without seeing his face, she can’t tell if this is a good kind of ambushed by feelings or a bad kind. Maybe she’s overstepped, maybe Bucky doesn’t actually like Christmas all that much—
“I know it’s a bit childish, but since you’re joining us for Christmas and all, I figured you ought to have a stocking,” she adds.
“No, it’s great,” says Bucky in a low voice, still facing away from her. “Thank you. It, uh, means a lot.”
Thankfully, he turns to face her then, and his expression is soft and open and wondering, and it’s a much more precious gift than the stocking could ever be, even if she’d intended to stuff it with diamonds rather than candy and a couple paperbacks.
“You’re welcome,” she says, and then clears her throat. “So, you can have Sam’s room instead of the couch, since he’s not here. Though, actually, I finally cleared out the den and put in a daybed there, and I know it doesn’t have a proper door, but I put up a screen, so you won’t be stuck with the couch right out in the living room later anyway.“
“Thank you,” he says again, with a small smile that nonetheless lights up his eyes brighter than a starry night. “Um, I’m just gonna go wash up, if that’s—“
“Yeah, no, of course, go ahead. Take your time. Dinner’ll be ready when you come back down.”
Dinner’s nothing fancy: with the boys gone, she’s mostly been living off the same big batch of chili she’d made earlier this week, so she heats that up along with some cornbread and tosses together a quick salad, and after some consideration of Bucky’s super soldier metabolism and ostensible convalescence, she fixes him a couple sandwiches too, giving them a quick grill so they’re warm and toasty. She’s just sliding them onto a plate when Bucky comes back down, and it makes her feel some kind of way that he quietly goes about setting the table, without being asked.
That’s just his way, Sarah has come to learn; he always finds some way to make himself useful without being overbearing or presumptuous about it, and after his visits, Sarah always finds evidence of any number of small repairs and home improvements, despite the fact that she never manages to actually catch him in the act, like they’d been visited by a particularly handy and thoughtful poltergeist.
“There’s beer and wine in the fridge, if you want,” she tells him.
“And what’s the better pairing for our meal, chef?” he asks with a grin, and she laughs.
“The beer I think, take a bottle out for me too.”
Between the two of them, the table’s quickly set, and they sit down together like they do this all the time, like this isn’t the first time they’ve shared a meal with only each other, like this couldn’t be a date.
Simmer down, Sarah, she tells herself.
“This all looks amazing, Sarah, thank you,” says Bucky.
His gratitude is, as ever, an achingly sincere thing. Sam always answers it with a joke or casual acknowledgment, but Sarah can never manage that. She can only ever say, “You’re welcome,” and hope he hears the truth beneath the rote words. You are welcome here, because she suspects he hasn’t had much cause to hear that sentiment, this side of the 21st century. Sarah can’t make up for all that, can’t even hope to try, but it is a hurt she can ease a little bit now, and her mama used to tell her that it’s always worthwhile to ease what hurts you can, when you can, especially when it doesn’t cost you anything.
They eat in silence for a while, Sarah feeling somewhat smug about Bucky’s obvious appreciation for the food, when Bucky says, “So, is there a particular reason the Wilsons are so, uh, enthusiastic about Christmas?”
“Oh, I don’t know that there’s a reason, really,” says Sarah, after a sip of beer. “At least, I don’t know if my parents had any particular reason. I just like—you know, the magic of it all. It’s a nice way to finish out the year, and I like the togetherness, I suppose, how people come together, I mean. And it makes me feel closer to my parents and family, carrying on those traditions.”
That all sounds normal enough, Sarah’s pretty sure. Which is good, because she is well-aware that she’s not quite normal about Christmas. Like, there’s holiday spirit, and then there’s the Wilson family intensity about Christmas.
“I’m sure the boys appreciate it,” says Bucky, and Sarah shrugs.
“Neither of them believe in Santa any more, but yeah, I make sure they have a fun time, even if I can’t get them all the presents they want. The boat parade is part of that, AJ and Cass love it. They always get really into decorating the Paul & Darlene.”
What Sarah does not say is: her parents had gotten really into decorating the Paul & Darlene too, and had taken such joy in it every year, even when times were hard, and now that they’re gone, when every other part of the year is full of death and sorrow, Sarah can at least keep that joy alive.
Sarah also does not say: her husband had absolutely adored the Spirit of Delacroix. Alex had not had notably strong feelings about Christmas, but the moment he’d set eyes on the Spirit of Delacroix, he’d gone all in on Delacroix Christmas, and now that he’s gone, she wants to make sure some small part of his joy lives on—for the boys’ sake, if nothing else.
Sarah does not say any of that, because it’s all too much. Bucky doesn’t need to hear her sob story, that’s not gonna help them save Christmas.
“It sounds like a fun tradition,” he says, with his usual sincerity.
“What about you?” she asks. “Are you a Christmas lover or hater?”
Bucky shrugs. “Haven’t had much occasion or opportunity to celebrate in a long time,” he says, matter-of-fact, as if that isn’t one of the most heartbreaking things Sarah’s ever heard.
“Not even last year?” Sarah hazards.
Bucky’s lips turn up in a very small, very sad approximation of a smile. He keeps his eyes on his by-now almost empty bowl of chili, his long lashes obscuring whatever expression is in his eyes.
“Not really much point in celebrating alone,” he says, very quietly. “I did some volunteering, to stay busy.”
Sarah suspects that there are many things Bucky is not saying, just as there were many things she hadn’t said earlier. Even so, she hears the vast grief between his few words, an immovable silence bigger than any words or cries you could ever throw at it. She wonders if he’d heard the same silence in between her words too. The knowledge sits between them like a quiet and invisible guest who has long had a seat at their table.
It’s far less awkward than it has any right to be.
“Well, you’re celebrating with us this year,” says Sarah, in the brisk tone she learned from her grandmother and that’s never failed her, and Bucky nods, still not looking up. Brashly, Sarah adds, “Every year, if you want. Consider it a standing invitation, if Sam hasn’t told you already.”
“He did,” says Bucky, still quiet. He finally looks up, and for a fleeting moment, it’s all there in his eyes: the grief and the loneliness, and the bittersweet wonder at the possibility of a respite from all of that. He doesn’t quite manage to tuck it all away; she kind of wishes he wouldn’t try at all. His openness is a lovely thing. “Thank you,” he says again.
And again, Sarah says, “You’re welcome,” and means it in every possible way.
After dinner, Bucky makes her tea and does the dishes, flirting with her in that easy way of his all the while.
Forget about over-the-top romance novel scenarios like a public declaration of love in a crowded ballroom, or a prince forsaking his title for you. This is the real dream: a handsome, strapping man pouring you a cup of your favorite herbal tea, just the way you like it—and when, precisely, had Bucky had the chance to notice that, she wonders?—and then doing your dishes, while he takes every opportunity to flatter you with his earnest and slightly awkward with it sincerity. It is, Sarah can concede, a very pushing-40, widowed single mom kind of dream to have.
“Everything you do for the community for the holidays is really amazing, Sarah,” he says. “Sam was telling me a bit about it, Delacroix is real lucky to have you.”
“Oh, it’s nothing much,” says Sarah, and Bucky looks over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow.
“Organizing a whole gift drive sure seems like a lot to me, and I know that’s not all you’re doing,” he says. “If there’s anything else I can help you with to, you know, help save Christmas, just say the word.”
“Hmm, keep making open-ended offers like that and I’ll be asking you to, I don’t know, dress up as a Christmas elf for the Santa photo ops.”
Bucky laughs, and throws a wink her way. “Hey, I’ve been told I’ve got a great set of gams, and I look good in green. Go for it.”
And green tights are not so different from Bucky’s preferred skinny jeans, thinks Sarah, not bothering to hide her appreciative appraisal of those ‘gams’.
“We’ve got elf duty covered, but thank you,” she says with a grin. “For the mental image if nothing else.”
“You’re welcome,” says Bucky with another laugh.
By now, Sarah thinks she’s accustomed enough to Bucky’s ludicrous good looks that she doesn’t act a whole entire fool at the sight of his very pretty blue eyes or bright smile, so Bucky’s answering smile—one of his sweeter ones that speaks of genuine delight with the way his nose scrunches up—only occasions a brief fluttering pitter-patter of her heart rather than wholly overtaking all her good sense. Sarah is also (mostly) long-past any shyness about flirting with Bucky. It’s just how they are with each other by now, and someday, maybe, one or the other of them will do something about it.
Or maybe they won’t. Maybe they shouldn’t, for the sake of keeping this cobbled-together family safe from the risks of an uncertain romance. Sarah’s life on this hard-won little patch of steady, solid ground on the bayou cannot afford any risks.
In the meantime though, it sure is nice to flirt with a beautiful, kind man.
“The only other thing I might recruit you for, Christmas-wise, is delivering some food around town,” Sarah says.
Bucky nods agreeably as he finishes up the dishes and joins her at the kitchen table. “I can help with the prep too, if you need a sous chef.”
“Maybe, if we can squeeze you in on the assembly line…t’s a whole operation at this point, but thank you for the offer.”
“Yes ma’am, General Wilson, ma’am,” he says, snapping off a crisp salute, and Sarah rolls her eyes, but she’s laughing too. “Hey, so if I’m gonna be helping you look for the Spirit of Delacroix, I should probably know what it looks like. You got any pictures?”
Sarah bites her lip. “I do, but…do you really need to know exactly what it looks like?” Bucky’s eyebrows go up, and she rushes to add, “I just—me and Sam—we wanted it to be a surprise for you.”
Now Bucky’s eyes narrow. “Why?”
Sarah shrugs. “Part of the Christmas magic, I guess? We don’t mean to hide anything from you, just—we want you to have a good Christmas, is all. And there’s nothing like seeing the Spirit of Delacroix for the first time in the boat parade. Photos don’t do it justice.”
Bucky’s suspicion melts away and his expression softens. “I’m pretty sure any Christmas I’m here with you—um, you and Sam and the boys, I mean—is going to be great, Sarah. surprise or no surprise. But alright, I guess I don’t need to know the specifics,” he says. “I am definitely getting really curious about this legendary Christmas boat though.”
Sarah laughs, sheepish now. “Maybe I’m raising your expectations too much! I’m sure something like, I don’t know, the tree lighting in New York is more impressive. The Spirit of Delacroix, she’s ours though, and I—we—want to share that with you properly.”
“That’ll be my motivation for helping crack the case of who stole it, then,” says Bucky with a smile. “Apart from saving Christmas, that is.”
With that settled, Sarah urges Bucky to pour himself a cup of tea too, and offers him some cookies from the cookie swap she did just the other day with her book club. They chat easily as Bucky nibbles appreciatively on the cookies: about Sam and the boys, about Bucky’s recent trip to Wakanda, about the latest Delacroix gossip.
After she’s finished her tea, Sarah excuses herself to have her nightly call with AJ and Cass, and Bucky says he ought to go to bed. It seems early for that, but then they are an hour behind New York, and he is technically still recovering from surgery. Though she suspects “go to bed” might actually be a polite euphemism for “be alone for a bit and read quietly before I’m tired enough to sleep.” Which, fair enough. Cass is like that too.
With Bucky off doing his own thing, Sarah gets in some blessed alone time of her own—no matter how much she loves her kids and her brother, and no matter how much she enjoys her latest house guest, alone time is still an incalculably precious luxury for a working single mother. So she relishes the opportunity to watch an entire, uninterrupted episode of television while doing absolutely nothing at all, not even folding laundry.
It’s glorious.
When she heads up to bed for the night, drowsy and secure in the knowledge that the house is in order and her kids are looked after, she crosses paths with Bucky.
He gives her a sheepish smile. “Just going to get some water. And, uh, check the locks and the perimeter and all that.”
Sam usually does the same when he’s home, so she smiles back and says, “Fine by me,” to Bucky’s evident relief.
She hears him come back up just as she’s finishing up her nightly routine, and she suspects that’s deliberate, because otherwise he moves in unnerving silence.
“Everything all clear?” she calls out.
“Yep, good night, Sarah,” he says, and she tells him good night too before heading to bed.
It’s only when she gets in bed that she realizes: they’re alone in the house together for the first time. In fact, she’s pretty sure this has been the longest she’s spent in Bucky’s company without anyone else around.
It doesn’t feel strange at all, and that very lack of strangeness comes around to feeling strange. Because Sarah is very aware that she lives a small life in a small town. She went to college and then she came back home, and she’s scarcely left since. She’s not ashamed of that, doesn’t particularly have any big-city dreams or anything, and anyway, New Orleans isn’t far. Delacroix may be small, but it’s not isolated. Even so, most everyone she knows here, she’s known since she was a child. There have been a few newcomers to Delacroix, sure, but even they’d had some kind of family ties here already.
Bucky’s a rarity: a complete newcomer, and one who’s an outsider in more ways than one. And small life or not, Sarah is not uninformed. She knows who and what Bucky is, though she hasn’t sought out any details on his time as the Winter Soldier, because Bucky is owed his dignity and his privacy. As different as their respective tragedies are, Sarah still knows what it’s like when the first thing someone knows about you is the worst thing that has ever happened to you. She knows how that just—flattens you, presses you and preserves you like a funeral flower between the pages of grief’s heavy book. So from the moment Sam had texted her that Bucky was in Delacroix and could he stay with them and it was okay if she said no, if she didn’t feel safe with him around, though Sam assured her that Bucky was safe, just a traumatized grouch with dubious social skills—from that moment, Sarah had determined that she would treat Bucky Barnes like she would any other man.
Which was all well and good until she actually saw him in person, at which point one smile, those pretty blue eyes, and an introduction had gotten her thoroughly, delightfully discombobulated. In her defense, photos had really failed to prepare her for that kind of handsomeness in real life, at close range. Also, pushing 40 has got to be too old to have a crush, and yet here Sarah is.
All that is to say, Sarah should be feeling at least a bit uncomfortable and off-balance about spending all this time alone with Bucky, without Sam or the kids as a buffer. But she doesn’t, because crush or no crush, newcomer or not, there is something so immediately legible about Bucky to her, something that’s not quite familiar but is still known and knowable on some fundamental level. She’s comfortable with him, and he’s evidently comfortable with her, and even apart from all that, she just plain likes him, his earnestness and his dry humor and the way he’s always trying. She likes him more and more as they talk more and spend more time together.
And that’s the strange part. Nothing’s come easy to Sarah for a long time. She’s not sure how to trust anything that does.
She knows what Sam would say, because he’s already said it: I’m not gonna butt in on whatever y’all have got going, but Sarah—it’ll take a lot of work, from both of you, if you wanna try for something real and serious.
As if that’s any kind of deterrent. If there’s any lesson life’s taught her, it’s that everything worth having and keeping takes work.
At any rate, late-night musings are a far cry from the bright light of day’s realities. Bucky is her brother’s partner and her friend, and he’s here to do her a favor, not to woo her or be wooed by her.
But what if, says a small and wistful voice from deep inside of her, and she falls asleep with half-formed thoughts and wispy dreams of Christmas magic and Christmas romance drifting through her head.