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The wizard is dead, to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that.
Bucky, however, has doubts about many, many other things.
“Are you absolutely and completely sure,” he asks, weighing his words carefully, “that this mission has been officially approved by SHIELD?”
“Approved? Yes. As for the part about it being official... Not necessarily.” Steve admits with a sigh. “It was more a kind of a... favor. She's a friend of a friend.”
“Wonderful” Bucky mumbles. “And taking me from Wakanda was completely necessary for you to discreetly get rid of the dark wizard?”
“I thought it would be a much simpler task. And I wanted to... Well, I thought it would be nice to have an excuse to hang out with you. Spend the Christmas Eve together. Just like old times. Regardless of... the circumstances.”
“Mhm.” Bucky finishes wrapping a bandage around Captain America's bloodied hand, apparently torn by a magic spell. The world has gone mad. “Very nice.”
“Buck, don't be like that, I didn't expect it to be this much trouble.”
It's possible that this conversation would have taken a slightly harsher turn over time, but it's thankfully interrupted by a woman entering the room, clearly wiping her hands of something that resembles... Purple blood? Some weird shiny fluid? Bucky decides not to ask questions.
“You did well, boys.” Agatha Harkness says with satisfaction, stepping closer. With a firm motion, she removes a wad of bandages from the soldier's hands and, with a snap of her fingers, makes Steve's wound disappear completely. Bucky sighs. He was doing a good job with that bandage. “When Wanda said to expect you guys, I was a little dubious, but apparently I was wrong.” She walks closer to Bucky, who twitches involuntarily, but she only mutters an indistinct incantation and makes his torn leather jacket return to its new state. “I think you've earned your reward.”
“Not at all, ma’am,” Steve is clearly trying to refuse as politely as he can, “no charges between friends.”
“But I wasn't talking about money, dear boy.” Agatha has a strange smile that was probably meant to be encouraging, but something about it sends a shiver down the soldier's spine. “I have a much more interesting prize to offer.”
“I don't think we'd be interested in…”
“Oh, really? You think I can't offer you anything interesting, dear captain? What if…” The witch thinks for a moment. Suddenly her eyes light up. “There you go, I already have the perfect idea. What if I were to offer you a Christmas Eve special? How about it, my blond American Ebenezer Scrooge?”
“What do you mean?” Steve genuinely seems a little interested. Damn. Holy crap. Bucky can suddenly see in him a small, sickly boy who spoiled his eyes by reading Oliver Twist over and over again on sleepless, coughing nights.
“Well, what’s the line? The Ghost of Christmas Past, the Ghost of Christmas Present and the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come? I admit that in your case it might be painful to revisit the past, during the present I don't see any surprises for you... But the future? Why not?” Agatha squints her shining eyes. “I see an interesting future for both of you... Your case is eminently intriguing, Captain, because your timeline is wrapping up. Your future is simultaneously your past. How fascinating. And I see a young woman waiting for you there... Dark hair, British accent, military decorations... I have a feeling you know what I'm talking about, huh? Wouldn't you like to see her? And yourself with her? A happy family on a Christmas Day?”
Steve’s convinced, Bucky can see that clearly. And he can't even blame him.
“Okay, fine.” He says quickly. “Steve did most of the work anyway, so let him fly on your magical ride into the world of future sentimentality while I wait here.”
“Oh, I'm afraid such an arrangement is out of the question.” The witch giggles, but with her deep voice the sound is more like a purr. Of a very wild and very large cat. “Double or nothing. Your work was just as impressive as the Captain's, Sergeant Barnes.”
“Uhhh, really, I'm not in the mood, let Steve take my turn or something.”
“Are you afraid of the future, Winter Soldier?” Agatha Harkness asks. There's purple in her eyes, Bucky only sees it now.
“It's not fear. It's just... I don't want to see it. And that's it.”
Agatha giggles again, but this time her tone is much more cheerful.
“That's not true.”
“I'm not lying to you.” Bucky rolls his eyes.
“I'm not saying you're lying. I'm claiming you don't have enough facts to judge. I, unlike you, have them. And I can confidently assure you, Sergeant: you want to see what I’m going to show you.”
Bucky isn't sure what to say to that. Or if he even can.
“Well, it's settled then!” Agatha claps her hands, suddenly seeming like an excited (or maybe just crazy) little girl. “A short trip into the future to the next happy holidays for both men it is! Just a few words of instruction,” she adds cheerfully, beginning to draw sparkling, luminous signs in the air already, "you will see two Christmas evenings. You will be... Well, I guess the easiest way to say it is that you will be in ghost form, and anyway, that will keep us in a Dickensian mood, won't it? You can't touch anything. You won't be heard. You won't be able to influence anything. You will, however, be free to move around as long as you remain within the confines of the room where the main character is staying that evening. I am sending you both to the next Christmas Day that you will consider happy, so I am also not guaranteeing any specific date. Any questions?”
“Yes, to be honest, I have quite a few... “ Bucky begins, but realizes that his vision is already beginning to fade.
All he can hear through the fog is Agatha's voice.
“Merry Christmas, dear boys.”
***
Steve's Christmas is exactly what Bucky expected - or perhaps, exactly what he hoped for. It's like a trip to the perfect world they imagined as little kids, freezing in underheated and poorly lit Brooklyn apartments. There's a small, cozy house in the American countryside, the walls painted honey-gold, the living room lit by candles, the bustle of guests, someone playing a guitar and singing I'll be home for Christmas, someone trying to convince him he's doing it wrong, the joyful shouts when a turkey (only slightly burnt) is brought into the room. And, of course, there’s Peggy Carter, beautiful as ever, playful as ever. She talks with apparent gruffness about the differences between American and English holidays, the people around her laugh, and the future version of Steve Rogers, slimmer, slightly more hunched over, with a beard and slight wrinkles around his eyes, doesn't even try to join the discussion, just looks at his wife with delight.
Bucky tries to remain... respectful. Not distanced, not exactly, but still... When he looks at his Steve, that is - the ghost version of Steve, pacing cheerfully around the table, when he sees his helpless happy puppy eyes and tentative smile, he just decides he should give him some space. So he retreats to a corner of the room and sits on the window sill. Luckily his translucent body doesn't penetrate the wood, that would be embarrassing.
Steve looks for a moment as if to tell him to come closer, but then the future version of him uses his tea spoon to tap on the glass (and, as Bucky can hear very clearly even from his seat, cause a crack in it). But no one notices this, because Steve and Peggy (certainly now Peggy Rogers, not Peggy Carter, Bucky realizes) get up from their seats. And they inform the assembled crowd that they have a joyous announcement to make.
The applause at the table goes on for a long time, Peggy bows her head in a feigned bow, and the hand with which she touches her belly trembles only slightly.
“If it's a boy, we'll name him Jimmy.” She says, her voice softer and warmer than usual.
Bucky catches a glimpse of his Steve and claps in response as well, though of course his spectral hands make no sound.
It's okay , he tries to convey with a look. It really is okay, Stevie.
And that strange, slight sting he feels in his chest - it's nothing, really. It'll pass.
***
The more the evening progresses, the more anxiety Bucky begins to feel. An anxiety that quickly turns into an almost panicky clutching of his stomach. Soon it will be his turn. Soon the Rogers' beautiful, perfect future will unravel before their eyes and they will see… well, what?
Bucky doesn't expect much, really. And he certainly doesn't expect anything special for himself. But it terrifies him to think of the sadness in his closest friend's eyes if Bucky's happiest future Christmas were... Him drinking hot chocolate alone in a completely empty room, for example. Watching TV in a hotel. Or worse (the likelihood of this option makes his throat constrict) if it's some sort of successfully completed mission.
Let's hope for Wakanda, Bucky decides, trying to control his nerves. Wakanda makes sense . Maybe it worked, maybe future Bucky has a chance to spend Christmas at least in the company of nice, kind people who aren't afraid of him. And goats. Of course, that doesn't quite make sense, since Wakanda doesn't celebrate christian holidays, but... Well, nobody said it had to be a celebration. It could just be a nice day on December 25, right?
Let's hope it's Wakanda.
***
It most certainly and absolutely is not Wakanda.
And the ubiquitous, enormous snowdrifts are, Bucky must admit, a clue.
They appear in the middle of a wide, snowy field. It is clearly the middle of winter, and the wind is whipping at such a speed that at first the soldier expects their strange, ethereal forms to be swept away. However, this does not happen. Well, magic.
Among the swirling petals, Bucky finally spots the silhouette of his future self. And when he sees it more clearly, he is now absolutely certain that he was right stressing out.
The Future Bucky, shorter and thinner than one might expect, has just gotten off his motorcycle, which he left carelessly on the side of the road. He's probably right - it's impossible to drive through a snow-covered field. He acts cautiously, like a man navigating a completely new area. He takes out his phone, clearly checking the coordinates, and then, slowly and carefully trudging up to his knees in the high snow, he heads towards a building visible in the distance. Bucky and Steve float uncertainly behind him. Bucky studiously avoids the captain's gaze, which most likely expresses concern - and rightly so.
The closer they get to the house, the more cautious Future Bucky becomes. He looks around carefully, turns off the flashlight on his phone with which he has been lighting his way so far, and then, slowly and quietly, makes his way toward one of the dimly lit windows.
This is not the behavior of a man, coming home safely for Christmas.
***
Future Bucky noiselessly opens the previously only slightly ajar window with ease, and then nimbly and lightly jumps in. Is there someone in the house who works with him and specifically left this option for him? Possibly, though it's also possible that simply the owners are a bit reckless. And that they don't expect their house to be broken into on Christmas evening.
Bucky and Steve don’t have to follow Future Bucky through the window. However the spell Agatha cast works, the moment Future Bucky is in a closed room - they appear in the same room. And, until he moves to another room, they cannot move there either, even if the door is open.
They are now in a shadowy corridor which, judging by the sounds coming from afar, leads to the living room where the guests are. Perhaps it is used as a smoking room? That would indeed explain the tilted window.
Future Bucky is in no hurry. He takes off his coat, which makes sense since it would restrict his movements. He adjusts his gun harness, which could also make sense, although Bucky notices that the straps are probably unnecessarily tightened too much. Of course, this probably looks better, but what's the point? It's hard to pinpoint a practical benefit.
“Is this a new hand?” He hears Steve's surprised voice next to him, which snaps him out of his train of suspicious thoughts. Ah, indeed. His future version has also taken off his gloves while undressing, and his left hand definitely looks different.
“Ah, yes, that's what it looks like.” Bucky admits, involuntarily lowering his voice as if he would need that. He doesn't. No one can hear them, they've tested it before. “My guess is that it's Wakandan technology. Princess Shuri mentioned that she was planning to prepare some designs for me.”
“That's kind of her.”
“Very kind.” Bucky says inattentively. He moves the fingers of his old silver hand slightly. In the ghostly version, at least it's not so heavy.
Bucky doesn't say that Shuri's proposition came about because of the brawl that erupted when, after receiving the captain's message about this mission, he forced the Wakandan doctors to reattach his old arm. Partly, because I didn't want to be an unnecessary burden would again elicit sympathetic and sad looks from Steve. Partly, because he's distracted.
Did Future Bucky just fix his hair? And did he do it several times?
What the hell is going on here?
***
Future Bucky finally quietly opens the door at the end of the hallway, and squinting in the light, he slowly slips into the living room. At first unnoticed by anyone, he looks around with something like a menacing smile tinkering on his lips. Bucky and Steve follow him, completely lost in the situation. If it's an infiltration mission, why did he leave his gun in plain sight and why is he still wearing military clothing? If it's an assassination mission, why... well, why didn't he start shooting right away, taking advantage of the surprise?
The living room - or maybe ballroom would be a better word for it - is huge and filled with a crowd of people. Most of them are standing in groups, immersed in conversation. A larger group of people have gathered by the huge fireplace, and it seems they are about to make some sort of humorous toast - you can hear laughter and the clinking of wine glasses. Music plays in the background, a gentle male voice coming from an impressive antique gramophone. Along the walls are lavishly set tables, but waiters are nowhere in sight, so the occasion is not overly formal. There's also a group of kids trying to follow a huge white cat that majestically ignores their efforts, heading proudly toward a quieter part of the room. Which, of course, causes the group of kids to be the first to notice the Winter Soldier in full battle gear, standing in the shadows cast by one of the Christmas trees.
Everything in the room freezes for a moment.
“Uncle Bucky!” One of the boys exclaims loudly and joyfully, and then runs across the room… and hugs him. Not only does the soldier act as if this interaction is completely normal, but he even lifts the boy up on his left shoulder for a moment. It looks as if they have done this before. Some people in the living room turn toward them, hearing the commotion - and also not reacting with any surprise. Some laughter is heard, someone shouts "welcome!", a few people raise their hands in a welcoming gesture... And that's it. No one panics. No one.
“Good to see you, Cass” Future Bucky laughs, putting the boy down. “Where did you lose your brother?”
“He's in the kitchen.” The boy says. “We wanted to play with Alpine, and he's afraid of her”
“You should be afraid of her too.” Future Bucky says with a stony face. “She is a very dangerous animal. She shouldn't be disturbed.”
“Yeah, we know, but…”
“Bucky, finally!” A tall, black woman pushes through the crowd. “We were beginning to fear you wouldn't get here on time.”
Steve looks at Bucky with excitement in his eyes while they embrace in greeting.
“This is Sarah Wilson," he says cheerfully. “Sam Wilson's sister, in which case it'll be one of her sons, I think the older one. Do you remember Sam?”
“Yes, Stevie, I remember Sam.” Bucky rolls his eyes. “And if I accidentally forgot, it wouldn’t be for long, because he's on his way here.”
Not only does Sam Wilson walk up to them, but he passes through Bucky's spectral silhouette completely at random. It's a strange feeling. Very strange. Definitely not wanting a repeat, Bucky takes a few steps back just in case.
“Fashionably late, huh, Buck?” Asks Sam accusingly, squeezing his hand tightly and patting him on the back. Future Bucky snorts.
“Not by choice.”
“And couldn't you at least walk through the door like a normal person?”
“Hey, it was supposed to be a surprise.” Future Bucky croaks with displeasure. “But unfortunately, the plan didn't work as it should have.”
“Ah.” Sam exchanges communicative glances with Sara. “I get it.” He says suggestively.
Future Bucky rolls his eyes in a very familiar gesture.
“Okay, now that we've had our fun at my expense," he says tartly, "will someone please tell me where he is?”
“Who?” Sam blinks innocently, but Sarah sighs heavily and whacks him in the ear with a chastising expression.
“He's in the kitchen with AJ.” She says with a slight smile. “The kid demanded to make him some hot chocolate. Of course I offered to make it for him myself, but apparently, and I quote, his is more exclusive.”
“Because it is!” Cass says with conviction. “He puts gold in there. The kind that's edible.”
The adults look a little confused for a moment. They look at each other.
“I sincerely hope he doesn't do that after all.” Sarah says at last. She doesn't sound too convinced, though.
“Sure he doesn't.” Assures Sam, sounding equally insincere. “It's probably just some glitter or something. There's plenty of that stuff around here, I tell you, Buck, even the cookie decorating looked like a cross between Disneyland and the Museum of Contemporary Art.”
“I know, I know, I was sent a lot of pictures.” Future Bucky laughs. “I'm really sorry I missed so many great cultural events.”
“Next time, pal.”
“Let's hope so. Where's the kitchen?”
Sarah points him to one of the doors on the other side of the room. Bucky and a suspiciously silent Steve stream toward them, trying to get through as few people as possible. They are moderately successful at this. Future Bucky also has trouble getting through towards the door, but for a different reason - every now and then he is accosted by someone trying to start a conversation.
“I'll be right back and tell you everything, Yelena, I promise.” He assures the light-haired girl. “You will get a full account. And yes, I brought you ptichye moloko, I wouldn't forget after all…” He breaks off, as if he can sense someone's presence behind his back. Yelena giggles and retreats to the other two girls she spoke to earlier.
Future Bucky turns around slowly.
“Well, hello there, James.”
***
Bucky doesn't recognize him at first. The beard, the longer hair, the soft brown sweater, the slightly flushed cheeks - it all creates a much different image from the one Bucky remembers from Berlin. Steve, however, doesn't seem to have that problem.
“Is this,” his voice resounds, “the damned Helmut Zemo?”
Bucky stares at the scene unfolding in front of him with bewilderment.
"Yeah. I think so."
Meanwhile, Future Bucky - James, apparently - has just finished kissing the internationally known terrorist on both cheeks, and according to Bucky, only the children watching the scene stopped him from doing more. Instead, however, he allows Zemo to stroke his cheek and smooth the hair on his temple.
“Hello, darling .” James finally speaks up, with an exaggerated accent, clearly trying to give his voice the appearance of teasing. Bucky, however, can easily sense the tenderness hidden in those words, and feels like he's about to have a heart attack.
Zemo brightens into a warm smile.
“Do you like your gift?” He asks, indicating the space around him with a commanding gesture.
James snorts.
“You know, when I mentioned that I liked the Last Christmas video, I really didn't mean to suggest that you should rent a villa in the Swiss Alps for Christmas.”
“The implication was clear.”
“It really, really wasn't, you crazy rich asshole.”
Zemo doesn't seem offended by the invective.
“Well, let's agree to disagree.”
“You also didn't have to pay me for a seat on some shady Russian millionaire's private jet just so I could fly here in the middle of a snowstorm. A snowstorm that, I remind you, stopped all other flights.”
“And let you spend Christmas alone in an old Russian military base?” The outrage in Zemo's voice seems genuine. “Not on my watch, James. And I didn't have to pay for that flight, by the way. I have my ways. Wasn't your trip enjoyable?”
“Did I say the word snowstorm unclearly?”
“Life without risk is not worth living.”
“You say so.” James doesn’t look convinced. “But I doubt you've ever had to spend six hours on a plane full of fancy Moscow prostitutes while wearing military gear .”
Zemo's eyes sparkle in response to this statement.
“Oh, James, how little you still know me.”
“Please do not elaborate.”
”Sure.”
“At least not now.”
“Fine.” The corners of his mouth curve up in a feline smile. “I have patience.”
***
Several people come up to greet James - Bucky is surprised to recognize Clint Barton, the archer who helped them that day at the airport. Steve seems even more surprised, but also seems to be starting to calm down a bit. This is the second of his old friends to act as if Helmut Zemo putting his arm around James’s waist and playing the role of proud host is something completely normal. Or, at least, something not absolutely terrifying.
“I'm afraid I'm going to have to kidnap him from you upstairs for a while first,” Zemo replies to the black-haired girl who has just suggested James take part in a round of poker. “We can't have you stuck in those dirty clothes all through the party, can we, my dear?”
“I would never dare get in the way of your perfectionism, I’m sure about that”. James smiles as if there's a private joke in that sentence. There probably is. “And I admit I'm a little uncomfortable, so...”
“Okay, okay, go, let Helli unwrap his gift properly.” The girl wiggles her eyebrows. “We all know he's been waiting for this moment all day.”
“Kate…”
“Go. Just hurry up. If it takes you more than half an hour, I'm going in there with my phone and your bare asses will be a Christmas present to everyone who follows Captain America's instagram accaount.”
***
“Buck, what do you think," Steve speaks up in a slightly anguished voice, "how good are the odds they're going to leave-- that they're not going to close the door?”
Bucky is just looking at James and Zemo coming up the stairs to the first floor. James evidently has his hand on Zemo's buttock. Bucky feels like covering Steve's eyes with his hand, just as Sarah has just done to Cass ("Mom, c'mon, I know all about these things!").
He sighs.
“Very little.”
***
The moment when Agatha's spell suddenly transports them to another room, while expected, is still not pleasant. It's inevitable, though, because James and Zemo have certainly locked the bedroom door behind them.
And they've even slammed it shut, as James pressed Zemo against it. In a very explicit and very intense make out session.
Steve, whom the power of the spell has placed closer to the door for some reason, is just retreating to the farthest corner of the room, his face expressing pure terror. He's overreacting a bit, Bucky thinks. He just got to watch Steve and Peggy kiss in the kitchen an hour ago, and he's pretty sure he wasn't all that disgusted by the sight.
But, to be fair, neither Steve nor Peggy were that… expressive.
“I missed you,” James sighs into Zemo's neck, slipping a leg between his thighs and a hand under his sweater. “I'm never going on any more long-term missions without you, all the people in SHIELD can go fuck themselves.”
“That would be a fascinating sight.”
“Shut up, you know what I mean.” James almost growls, which is an impressive accomplishment considering he's trying to eat Zemo's face at the same time.
Bucky giggles involuntarily. He turns around, giving the two a moment of relative privacy, and looks at the ghostly silhouette of Steve, who has apparently decided to admire the view outside the bedroom window. Unluckily, there's not much to admire there - the glass is frozen and covered in snow. Bucky isn't sure if magical ghosts can blush, but he's pretty sure that the top of Steve's cheeks are sort of darker.
“Getting flashbacks from the ‘40s?” He asks, somewhat amused. God, he hasn't felt this light in a long time. Steve looks at him with a menacing expression, but luckily there's a smile in his eyes.
“And from the ‘30s,” he says. “We shared a room for a while, let me remind you. At least I had earplugs in those days.”
“I’m sorry?”
“But good to see you haven't changed your moves much.” Steve rolls his eyes. “Nor have you improved them.”
“Hey,” Bucky frowns. “Apparently they still work. Why change something that works?”
“Well, I don't know if they work that great,” Steve glances over his shoulder with a slightly wider smile, - “your little terrorist meow meow seems less... distracted by them than some of your other boys I remember.”
“My little what?”
“Never mind.”
Zemo actually seems to return to being rational rather quickly. He pushes James back a forearm's distance and shakes his head, feigning disbelief. Bucky can't help but notice that with his reddened lips and tousled hair, the genius criminal looks... good. Maybe even better than good. Just a little.
“We've been given a time limit, James," Zemo laughs, slipping out of the soldier's embrace and, with a completely shameless gesture, fixing his pants. James follows this move with equally shameless and evident satisfaction. “And you really need to change those clothes. They don't fit in with the festive mood.”
“I was kind of in a rush.” James obediently loosens his belts and begins to remove his jacket. He does it very slowly, no doubt aware of Zemo's eyes on him. And undoubtedly tenses his shoulder muscles slightly for no good reason. Bucky can hear Steve at the window rolling his eyes again. Okay, that move of his really hasn't changed since the 1930s. “I didn't get a chance to stop at the tailor's on the way.”
“I'm well aware of that.” Zemo says sweetly. “That's why I have everything ready for you here.”
“Of course you do.” James looks at him, and the tenderness of that look makes Bucky's throat tighten strangely. This is starting to look a lot more serious than he expected. “Can I at least take a shower on my own? Or would you rather help?”
“You can.” Zemo graciously allows. “But you'd better leave the bathroom door open, because the mirrors fog up very quickly. There is some problem with the ventilation system.”
“Thank God,” Steve mumbles.
***
James really doesn't close the bathroom door, so at least they don't have to spend the next ten minutes watching him in the shower. Instead, they get a chance to watch Helmut Zemo, acting like someone absolutely soft and harmless. He takes several sets of clothes out of a huge closet and, humming something cheerful (a Sokovian carol?), arranges them on the bed. Then he goes into the bathroom, and hangs a warm light blue bathrobe on the handle next to the steamy shower stall. He then picks up the rest of James' scattered clothes from the floor and throws them into the laundry basket next to him (Bucky firmly ignores Steve's chastising look, because it's not his fault.)
“I leave your toiletry bag with your shaving utensils next to the sink," Zemo informs him, raising his voice slightly.
“I don't own any toiletry bag!” James shouts, drowned out by streams of water. “And I’m pretty sure I never had one!”
“You do now.”
James mumbles something that sounds like a muffled curse. Zemo just smiles. He walks back out into the bedroom. He looks skeptically at the three sets of clothes he selected earlier, then picks up one of them and reaches over to hang it up in the closet.
Steve watches him with suspiciously growing interest.
“He's put on some weight.” He notices in a conversational tone.
Bucky unexpectedly feels very, very protective.
“What the hell are you even talking about?” The sharpness of his voice surprises even himself.
“It's just an observation.”
“I haven't observed anything like that.” Bucky says firmly. “And even if he had, well, it suits him.”
“Of course, sorry, I didn't mean anything bad. Anyway, it's understandable, he probably spent some time in prison, it's hard to stay in shape in a place like that…”
Bucky suddenly stops listening to him. All his attention is consumed by Zemo, who unexpectedly wobbles on his feet, glances anxiously in the direction of the bathroom, then clumsily sits down on the bed, burying his face in his hands. He is shaken by a sharp attack of dry coughing that lasts a good half minute.
A half minute during which Bucky's heart seems to freeze in his chest. Please don't, he thinks desperately, please don't let it be anything serious, please don't let it turn out that I was shown this Christmas just because it's the only Christmas I'll ever have, please don't do this to me, don't...
“You should rest. You know that, right?” James says, muffled coughing sound has apparently summoned him from the bathroom. He's already clean shaven, he's even put on a robe, but his wet hair still clings to his head. Water drips onto the floor. He pays no attention to it and sits down next to Zemo, taking his hands in his own. “Organizing this whole big party really wasn't necessary. I'd be perfectly happy spending Christmas with you in bed and watching stupid holiday movies.”
“James, I'm fine.” Zemo sighs impatiently. “You're really overreacting.”
“The doctor told you to rest, and you decided it was the perfect time to throw a huge party for a few dozen people.”
“I can assure you that I was not the one who washed the windows and swept the floors.”
“In Switzerland.”
“Nor was I the one who piloted the plane.”
“But you were the idiot who decided to jump into the sea in the middle of November, chasing some stupid neo-Nazi freak, and caught fucking bronchitis!” James is clearly annoyed, but for Bucky that’s a huge relief. Just bronchitis. A normal illness. Curable. No mysterious virus planted by a Hydra agent, no... cancer or some other shit. Nothing fatal. It really wasn't worth that much panic. There’s still a future for him. For them.
“You really need to stop treating me like a delicate snowflake, darling.” Zemo says softly, removing his hand from James' grasp and stroking his wet hair. “I know the constant company of superheroes has spoiled you, but I promise, I won't melt after the first rain.”
“I just want you to take care of yourself.” James mumbles, but at the same time he tilts his head, allowing Zemo to kiss him on the forehead so his statement doesn't sound too firm.
“That's exactly what I'm doing, James.”
“But also, maybe, just maybe, I really wanted to be able to see you spend three weeks in bed recovering, eating junk food and watching TV shows. And I had to go to stupid Russia on a stupid SHIELD mission and missed the whole thing.”
Zemo's back is shaking, but this time from laughing, not coughing.
“This is a very unusual fantasy.”
“Don't judge me.”
“Wouldn't dream of it.” Zemo assures him. “But I think I can offer a suitable compromise.”
“Go on.”
“What if tonight we go down and have a nice time with our guests, but instead tomorrow we stay in bed all day, watching TV and eating leftovers?” Zemo asks solemnly.
James clearly can't hold back a smile, but he tries hard.
“The guests will still be here.”
“They won't be bothered.”
“Are you sure?”
“I'm sure neither you nor I will be bothered with their opinion.”
“Well, you're not wrong about that.”
”Well? What's your official verdict, James?”
“It's a deal.” James shakes his hand in feigned seriousness. “But I reserve the right to be around at all times the next time you're sick.”
“Agreed. You're a tough negotiator, I'll give you that.”
“Thank you.”
“And now,” Zemo energetically gets out of bed, “it's time for some real serious decisions. James, would you prefer a blue shirt or a green one?”
***
Bucky is not a party expert. He's maybe even the exact opposite of that. But as far as he can tell, this party looks pretty successful.
And at least no one is dying, which is a big improvement over the parties he's been to over the years.
There's an intense and loud poker game going on at one of the tables, full of creative invectives and even more creative bets. Bucky sees that Steve, after a few minutes of circling the ballroom and listening to other conversations, finally decides to sit down and watch the game. It's a reasonable, neutral choice, potentially allowing him to get through the rest of that evening without any major surprises. Bucky should probably emulate him.
He doesn't.
Instead, he starts looking around for Zemo and James, whom he lost sight of for a moment. They were sitting with Sarah and the boys earlier, but now Bucky sees that Sarah has joined the group discussing politics by the fireplace, and the boys have managed to find Alpine (who graciously just lets them decorate her ears with silver streamers). And James and Zemo have disappeared.
Bucky is pacing around the room, trying to look innocent and not draw Steve's attention to himself. He looks for some sort of ajar door - it's the only logical possibility, since the magic didn't get them anywhere. After a while, his search pays off - next to the large door to the kitchen is a smaller one, probably leading to the basement.
Bucky slips out of the ballroom, running uncertainly down the narrow, shadowy stairs. He thought he heard some voices down here, but maybe he was wrong?
Why would they...
Oh.
That's why.
Okay. He was right about the voices.
But he didn't expect the scene that he just walked into.
***
It's not that the view is particularly surprising. Bucky had experience in these matters. In the '40s, he did it of his own volition. Later… not necessarily. But still, a Winter Soldier on his knees in front of a handler is nothing shocking.
Even the enthusiasm with which James just sucks Zemo's cock is nothing shocking.
What is shocking is mainly how turned on Bucky feels by the sight.
He shouldn't.
He shouldn't.
But Zemo throws his head back, leaning it against the stone wall, and reaches out to grab James by the hair, and the moan he lets out is… exquisite. His hips, moving in a slight but even rhythm, are mesmerizing. He has a dark flush on his face, his eyes are clenched shut, and he looks completely out of control. Completely at the mercy of James. And James takes shameless advantage of this, controlling the pace, pausing for a moment, content to listen to Zemo's breathless pleas. James' hands, both the normal and the metal one, wander over Zemo's body, clenching on the soft, freckled skin of his hips. The pressure of the metal hand must be painful and cold, but Zemo doesn't seem put off by it.
Bucky should back off. He should let those two have their privacy, even if one of those people is theoretically himself. He should turn back, see if Steve is looking for him. He should...
But he's unable to tear his eyes away.
If someone had asked Bucky yesterday if magical ghosts could get erections, he would have thought the person was crazy.
Wow, how times change. Now he knows the answer. And that answer is yes.
It takes all his willpower not to touch himself and test the other capabilities of his supernatural body.
Zemo bites his own hand as he stifles a scream, apparently coming in James' mouth.
Bucky decides to escape upstairs.
***
“Did you find them?” Steve asks inattentively, watching Yelena go all-in.
“Yes.” Bucky says in his most neutral tone. “But maybe it's best not to disturb them now. They are exchanging Christmas presents.”
***
Bucky panics slightly when they feel another tug of the spell, but thankfully they don’t get carried to the basement stairs.
Apparently, Zemo and James decided to go out for a walk and cool off a bit. Good idea, in Bucky's opinion.
It's already dark outside, but the front of the house (the opposite side to the one James came in) is lit up with colorful Christmas lights. Zemo takes advantage of James' momentary distraction by this fact, picks up a handful of snow and throws it at his head. James just laughs.
“I hope you know,” he says, looking at Zemo mischievously, “that absolutely everyone in this house expects you to propose to me tonight?”
Bucky hears Steve's surprised gasps. He ignores them. He has to concentrate on mastering his own reactions.
“Do you think I will?” Zemo asks with amusement.
“I don't.” James smiles. “I think you would hate being so predictable. Just as much as I do.”
“And you're right, I’m afraid. But also, in my opinion these kinds of big decisions and announcements at Christmas are a bit passé .
“You just insulted a huge part of humankind.”
“Do I look like I care?”
“No.” James mumbles, putting his arms around him. They both have snowflakes in their hair now. The twinkling of the lights makes them look a little magical themselves. “Thankfully, you don't.”
***
He could be angry that Agatha chose this particular moment to bring them back to the real world. He could. But Bucky realizes that he can't find a single bit of anger in himself at this moment. Everything seems shrouded in a soft, warm down.
Of course, it doesn't last long.
“I'm glad you had a good time.” The witch says with a pleased acknowledgement of Steve's thanks. “Enjoy it. You guys deserved it.”
She turns away from them. She extends one hand in front of her, drawing some kind of shimmering sign in the air.
“What a shame," she adds, "that you won't remember anything.”
They look at her in stunned amazement.
“Excuse me?” Steve asks slowly. “What do you mean when you say we won't…”
“I hope you didn't think I could afford an open conflict with TVA, my dear silly boy?” Agatha is already making a second mark.
“I have no idea what you're talking about, but…”
“Don't distract me, my dear, or while erasing these memories I'll erase something else for you.” Agatha threatens in an over-sweetened tone. “You've had your fun, now accept the consequences.”
“What about Wanda? After all, she's the one who sent us to you.”
“Oh, Wanda won't remember it either, I'm afraid. Our time has not yet come. My plan is bigger than you might expect. That was just a brief, amusing interlude.”
The final, third sign flickers in the air.
“Goodbye, boys. Maybe we'll meet again sometime.”
***
They're sitting in a nice, crowded café, and Wanda, blushing and embarrassed, is trying to justify herself.
“I'm really sorry that I called you for no reason.” Her whole attitude radiates embarrassment. “It seems that the problem solved itself before you got here.”
“That's all right,” Steve assures her. “Such things happen. Comes with the job.”
“Don't worry about it.” Bucky says, trying to be sympathetic. He's been feeling a little uncomfortable talking to young women lately. “At least I had an excuse to come to the States. Steve and I will have a chance to reminisce about old times. No harm done.”
“Thank you.” Wanda bows her head, shakes her red curls. She doesn't take her eyes off her coffee mug. “I have no idea how this could have happened.”
***
They walk out onto a snowy street in New York. Bucky feels a little overwhelmed for a moment, but suddenly recognizes the place they are in.
“Didn't we come here when we were younger? I seem to remember there was a bar across the street from here.”
“Ah, yes, indeed.” Steve is clearly excited. “I'm surprised you remember.”
“Things are coming back to me.” Bucky shrugs his shoulders. “It's a lot of work, but I think it gets better every day.”
“I'm glad. When I found out what your life was like, you know, all that mind wiping and stuff…”
“And stuff, yes.”
“...I was afraid you'd never get back to being yourself. I'm glad I was wrong.”
“You know, even in the old days, with the whole wiping… situation, I had my ways of remembering some things. I used to leave myself notes and things like that.
“Really? And they didn't search you for that?”
“Well…” Bucky wonders if he should say that he didn't leave notes on paper. That sometimes before returning to the Chair he would carve the words that were important to him with a knife into his skin, so that when he was done he would be able to hastily read the now fading scars. He decides that this wouldn't be a very festive topic of conversation after all. “Sometimes they didn't.”
“I guess you can't expect too much cleverness from most minor Hydra agents.“ Steve smiles to him. “But I'm happy it worked in your favor.”
“Yeah.” Bucky decides to change the subject. As quickly as possible. “Stevie, isn't there a post office around here somewhere by any chance?”
Steve squints in the falling snow, looking around.
”There should be. Why do you ask?”
“Nothing very important.” Bucky smiles slightly. “I have to send a Christmas card.”
“This way.”
They walk in peaceful, comfortable silence. Just like the old times. As if nothing has changed. There's a snowy New York, people rushing somewhere on their errands, a street violinist playing Silent Night out of tune.
And only the slowly healing cuts on Bucky's forearm form indistinct words: Write to Zemo.