Chapter Text
Please Have Snow and Mistletoe
Snow whispered over the Brooklyn Bridge. Far below, rush hour traffic fought through the early April squall, turning the hectic New York commute into a battlefield as people rushed to get home before the main storm arrived. Weather reports claimed they would wake up to two inches of the white stuff, and in current news media language, that meant everyone was losing their goddamn minds.
Steve, standing above it all in his office at Avengers Org, calmly sipped coffee while watching New Yorkers freak out over a couple inches of snow. Used to be, it took a dozen inches to get everyone's panties in a twist. Now, a dusting was enough to make the city come to a proverbial stand still. Either humanity was devolving or weather reporters were successfully brainwashing people.
He procured his phone and snapped a picture from the window to send to Bucky. Having his husband a million miles away in Afghanistan never got easier. One would think he would be used to the separation. Not so. There were nights he still reached over expecting to feel the man's warmth beside him only to come up empty, the sheets cold. Those mornings were always the roughest.
The door opening jolted him from his melancholy.
Angie entered first, followed immediately by Peggy, whose stomach was trending bigger than your average pregnancy. Still only one fetus. Their obstetrician had checked. Several times. Steve was quietly relieved. It would be hard enough being a single parent to one child while Bucky was gone. Twins might result in streaks of gray mixed in with the gold.
Hurrying forward, he helped Peggy off with her coat and pulled the chair from his desk so she could sit while Angie, Peggy's wife, got them coffee.
Meanwhile, Steve shot a text to Gabe Jones, the girls' long-time boyfriend, letting him know they had arrived safely despite the oncoming Snowpocalypse. Gabe had been ringing him non-stop for updates since the man was currently out of town working on a translation at the Smithsonian.
“What about this weather?” Peggy asked.
“Technically, it has snowed later in April before,” he commented.
“Still freaky-deaky,” said Angie.
“How did it go?” he inquired.
“We finally close next week. That means we'll need you and your muscles to help us move in before the birth. Gabe insists I not pick up a single box. That man will be the death of me.”
“Babe, Gabe-y is the only reason you aren't on the shooting range every week. Pretty sure I owe that man every not-gray hair on my head by this point.” Angie settled the cup in front of Peggy and kissed her wife's glossy hair.
“You should listen to Gabe. Really. For all our sakes.”
Peggy blew off their concerns in true stiff-upper-lip fashion and helped herself to Steve's work computer. Manicured nails flew over the keyboard as she pulled up their records database. “Have we received the updates on Trump's latest veteran's spending budget yet?”
“Just came in from our sources this morning.” Steve leaned over her shoulder to pull up the latest reports. “There are inconsistencies. You can see here the outgoing grant figures to two of his favorite charity organizations. Cross reference it against the charity's outgoings, and you can see there are discrepancies. Even allowing for salary, there's a huge difference between what they're receiving and what they're paying out. That money is going somewhere.”
They continued to talk business. Avengers Org had started in Steve's basement when he was in middle school, a solo project that put together comprehensive and accurate information about various politicians and their voting records. It had been a way for interested voters to cut through the bullshit propaganda of television ads and find the truth as to what the candidates stood for. Then came Peggy Carter, brash British exchange student with an interest in American politics and the truth.
A decade and numerous grants and public donations later, and they had moved into a building in Brooklyn and expanded operations to serve as a watchdog against government corruption. They still put out comprehensive fact packages about candidates running for office, but their organization had become so much more. They served a necessary purpose in a world filled with political shenanigans, in a world where a man who bragged about not paying taxes could be elected to the presidency.
Their latest push had been investigating charities for veterans to make sure their returning soldiers got the help they were entitled to. He'd been shocked at how many bogus charities were out there taking public donations and pocking the lion's share. Nothing shocked him anymore in this business. People did horrendous things when money was involved.
They were in the midst of a heated discussion when Steve's cell went off. He ignored it until Angie, her face grave, handed him the phone and suggested he should take it. The look she gave him scared him into glancing at the screen. It was Bucky's deployment officials. Everything stopped.
“H-h-hello?”
“Mr. Steven Barnes?”
“This is he.”
“My name is Jennifer Walsh. I'm with the 2nd Brigade Combat Team 10th Mountain Division. Your husband, Sgt. James Barnes, has been seriously injured while on mission and is being airlifted to Germany as we speak. I've called with current information on his condition.”
“H-h-how bad is it?”
“He is presently in critical condition. Sgt. Barnes was caught in an IED blast. In the process of stabilizing him, his left arm was amputated. There was also considerable damage to the core of his body up to and including several broken ribs, a shattered collarbone, and fractures in his scapula.”
Steve sat were he stood and cradled his forehead. “Where is he? How can I get there to be with him?”
“I will send you information regarding travel in the form of an email.”
He had the sudden desire to reach through the phone and shake her because how dare she use such a clinical tone with regards to his husband. Didn't she know there was a person behind those details? A new thought penetrated the fog currently gripping his brain.
“Was anyone else hurt from his unit?”
“There was one casualty.”
“Who?”
“I'm not at liberty to discuss that with you.”
“Who was killed?” he shouted, unable to control the surge of emotion.
“Sir, army regulation stipulates that information cannot be released until the family has been notified. We are presently attempting to contact the service member's next of kin.”
“Oh God.” Breathing hurt. Why did breathing hurt?
“Mr. Barnes, I will contact you again when Sgt Barnes has landed in Germany with an update.”
“Okay.”
“Thank you for your time.”
Why was she thanking him for his time? He couldn't breathe. God, why couldn't he breathe? The phone went silent when the call ended, but he didn't place it on the floor next to him, didn't move it away from his ear. He was too numb for that sort of muscle memory to activate.
Something cool pressed against his mouth.
“Take a deep breath, Steve,” Angie chided.
He obeyed the directive and inhaled as she depressed the canister of his inhaler. Medicine shot into his lungs. It was cool and soothing and allowed him to take in a deep breath. The rush of oxygen left him lightheaded, so all he could do was latch onto Angie and cling like his life depended on it.
“Steve, what do you need?” asked Peggy.
“I need--” He hiccuped. “I need to get to Germany. Bucky is being airlifted there. It's bad.”
“Angie, would you be good enough to send Luis to Steve's brownstone to pack his medications and some clothing? He can meet us at the airport.”
“Isn't he that waffle truck guy?”
“He turned up at our Halloween party dressed as an intern. No one kicked him out afterward.”
Naturally, the urgency of the situation meant the airport was a madhouse. Two inches of snow and flights were being delayed left and right. Something about the tarmac having not been prepared given how unusual it was to have a snow storm in April. People were sprawled out in various seating areas waiting to be boarded, and the din of their noise made Steve adjust the volume of his hearing aid.
Luis, who was apparently the staff's unofficial intern, waited for them near the check in with two carry on bags and a giant Mango Fruit Blast from Baskin Robins. In twenty-nine degree weather.
“Hi guys. Hope you don't mind I stopped in for a snack you ever had a Mango Fruit Blast they're pretty good.” He finally took a breath. “So what can I do you for? We're going to Germany, right? I went to Germany once great beer although I refused to wear the funny leather shorts.”
“What do you mean by 'we?'” asked Peggy.
“Look at the guy. Yo, Space-master. Someone's gotta go with him to make sure he gets on the right connecting flights and makes it to the right hospital.”
A beat of silence passed.
“That's what the intern's for, right? Figure I better earn my keep since you're putting me on payroll.”
“You're not on payroll.”
Luis' smile was like sunshine. “Yeah, but you're gonna.”
“I only booked one ticket.”
The intern pulled a boarding pass and passport from his back pocket.
“Thanks, Luis.” Steve gripped the intern's shoulder to squeeze it.
Angie scampered off to pick up his boarding pass from the check in desk, but just as she was returning so they could go through security, their flight was delayed. For two inches of snow. Because two inches of snow translated to “Aaaaaaaaah, we're gonna be buried alive!”
There was nothing to do but wait, and when it became apparent the wait would be significant, he sent the girls home so they weren't caught out in the worst of the storm. They were reluctant to leave, but he certainly didn't want to take chances with the pregnancy just so they could hold his hand. Luis was company enough to keep him from going absolutely mad while waiting.
So they waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Luis was sprawled across several seats, one foot on the floor, when the notice board officially canceled the flight they were supposed to take out of JFK. The guy sat up with an “Ah Hell” and scurried to the main desk to see if there was anything he could do, leaving Steve to hide behind his hands.
Bucky was hurt. The one time his husband really needed him, and he couldn't even get on a goddamn airplane to be with him. This was punishment for having found his soul mate so young in life, for having avoided kissing all those frogs to find his prince.
Unfortunately, the mad scramble to find a different flight that would get them to Germany proved impossible. Everything was either booked or delayed because of the storm. They could have flown into Denver to catch a flight to France, only Denver was covered in a foot of snow and had no outgoing flights. Flying out to Florida would have been option except that flight was booked full, and it didn't occur to him to ask any passengers to give up their tickets. They may have if he'd flashed the wounded veteran card, but it didn't cross his mind to use Bucky's status for preferential treatment.
The end point resulted in not being able to fly out until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest, and that just wasn't good enough. Bucky might be dead before he arrived if he waited until tomorrow afternoon. His husband might die in a foreign country tens of thousands of miles away from him with no one to hold his hand and no comfort but the blackness of oblivion.
Steve sat down in the middle of the airport and hugged himself.
“Oh please. Do you have any idea who I am?”
“Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to remain calm.”
“Look at this face. Tell me you don't recognize this face. It's plastered all over your television.”
“Sir, it's airport policy. If you don't have identification, I cannot allow you beyond this point.”
“Any second now, Happy's gonna come through that door and vouch for my character, and you're gonna feel sorry for holding a guy up from getting to Berlin for his girlfriend's awards ceremony. You know, that gorgeous redhead who took over as CEO of Stark Industries. Yeah, that's my bae.”
Luis nudged him in the ribs. “Guy's going to Germany in a private jet.”
“How do you know he's got a private jet?”
“'Cause that's the VIP entrance. They have to go through security too, you know.”
“Okay.”
His companion rolled his eyes and jumped up. “Yo Stark.”
“Oh shit, is that the voice of conscience finally introducing itself for yelling at VIP security officials?”
“Yes,” Luis responded. “Yes, I'm your conscience, and it's telling you that that man right there. You see him? The lump in the middle of the floor? Yeah, him. His husband was recently wounded.” Their voices blurred together as Luis explained the situation.
What surprised him was when Stark approached and held out his hand. “Heard you need to get to your husband in Germany. It just so happens I'm headed that way and have a thing for helping veterans to assuage my guilty conscience. You know, that whole business about creating weapons and all? So it seems you need a lift, and I need some good karma points. What do you say? Landstuhl Medical Center or bust?”
Steve lifted his head to make eye contact with the man. It was hard to believe. He didn't necessarily have the best opinion of the ultra rich. They took trillions of dollars out of circulation by hording it in off-shore bank accounts while the common worker lived pay check to pay check, so it surprised him when someone of the upper echelon did a good deed.
Finally, he accepted the hand in getting to his feet. “Thank you. It would mean the world to me.”
***
The damage was hard to look at. No amount of preparation could have taken away from the shock of seeing his husband so pale and lifeless in a hospital bed. There was something incredibly fragile about him, bundled up in pale blankets, dark hair a shock of contrast against white pillow cases, complexion making him disappear amongst the bedclothes. He hardly seemed real. He looked more like a China doll perched on the edge of a shelf when any small vibration could cause him to fall and shatter.
Bucky's face was littered with bruises and abrasions, but the main source of damage was the empty spot where his arm should have been. There was one hand lying still against the blanket with an IV leading to a stand and a bag that dripped saline. What should have been symmetrical wasn't. There was nothing, a void, an absence of part of the body Steve had loved since they were fourteen.
He dropped into a chair beside the bed and carefully gathered Bucky's remaining hand to press his lips against his husband's knuckles. The tears came salty and plentiful. They dripped onto Bucky's skin.
“I'm here, Bee-Bear. 'M right here, and I won't let anything happen to you again.”
His husband didn't wake.
“Hey, do you remember the first time I went into the hospital after we got together? God, you were so mad when the doctor didn't take me seriously.”
Modern medicine liked to think of itself as a paragon of higher thinking, but the truth was that some doctors couldn't see the forest for the trees. Steve's condition had confounded normal medical practices, so the number of doctors who wrote him off as a hypochondriac and recommended a mental health professional was astoundingly high.
It had taken a particularly brilliant hormone therapist, Dr. Abraham Erskine, to figure out that his pituitary gland had suffered from a unique malfunction that was now referred to as Rogers Syndrome. Hormone replacement therapy and surgical intervention had finally allowed him to fulfill his genetic predisposition to height and muscle mass.
Of course, then his bad heart had caught up with him. He'd spent over a year on the transplant list before a donor heart had finally come through. Steve was healthier than he'd ever been even if he was sometimes bitter about being on medication for the rest of his life.
He smiled and grazed his thumb over Bucky's forehead. “Pretty sure that doctor gave up medicine when you tore him a new one. But you were always there. Every doctor appointment, every run to the pharmacy, every moment I wanted to give up. You didn't let me. Now it's my turn.”
He wiped his face with a tissue and glanced up when someone entered the room. Seeing Corporal Romanoff standing there took him by surprise. He rose and held out his hand toward her. “Natasha, I wish the circumstances were better, but it's good to see you.”
Her normally stoic expression crumbled. She didn't stop with a handshake, just kept walking until they were pressed flush together. His arms came up instinctively to wrap around her. “Hey. It's gonna be okay. We'll get him through this.”
“C-clint--” she stuttered.
Steve went cold inside. “They said there was a casualty. Did Clint--” He didn't even want to say it.
“No!” She continued more quietly, “No, they were able to bring him back. He did die, but they revived him. He's here, just a couple of rooms over. There were no casualties.”
All the tension he'd been carrying disappeared in a rush, and he had to sit down to keep from falling down. That was the way with military squads. You couldn't just care about your loved one. You cared about everyone they were surrounded by on a daily basis. It meant the potential for hurt was so much greater than you ever anticipated.
“How is he?”
“Awake and talking. Barnes saved his life. Tried to push Clint clear of the blast just as it went off. It meant he was spared the main explosive force. He's--” She indicated her ears. “There's significant hearing loss. Pretty sure the army will honorably discharge him.”
“Can I see him?”
“Sure. He'd be glad to see you.”
Steve nodded and wiped fresh tears from his face with a tissue.
The comforting weight of Natasha's hand settled on his shoulder. “Barnes is tough as nails, and he's got every reason in the world to pull through this.”
“I know.” He was quiet for a moment. “I'm just so, so grateful it wasn't worse. This is bad enough, but we can get through this. We can learn how to adjust. If I'd lost him--” He couldn't figure out how to verbalize what it would have been like to suddenly have his other half missing.
“You'll be taking him home whenever he's discharged from here. Not saying it's gonna be easy. Just make sure you get him some good help. Make sure the VA doesn't give you the run around.”
Bucky moaned.
Steve rushed back to his bedside to watch the way his eyes fluttered, the way his toes moved beneath the blanket, the way his fingers curled. All signs he was coming back to reality. It still took several hours. The body didn't just leap into awareness after trauma like Bucky had been through. He came out of it in stages, slowly and then with one final push.
He didn't leave his husband's bedside during those hours. One moment, he was reading something on his phone. The next, he glanced up into a pair of stormy blue eyes, half-lidded and then opening fully.
“Steve.”
“I'm here, Buck. I'm right here.”