Chapter Text
Steve:
For Steve, last year's Christmas had been something of a disaster. He’d sat at the table, Tony at the head, Pepper on his left, Natasha on his right, and he’d kept his mouth firmly shut through five courses of tiny plates of food, through a deconstructed Christmas pudding that looked suspiciously like trail mix, through a toast about the breakdown of society and how easy it would be for Tony to brand Iron Man as a newer, improved Santa Clause, and through ridiculously expensive gifts exchanged that meant nothing to anyone.
Steve had given Pepper a candle that the woman in the shop told him could build calm and restore a person's patience (being that Pepper spent her life dealing with Tony Stark) but turned out to smell more like burnt frangipani oil once she removed it from the packaging (her smile never faltered, not once).
Tony had given Steve a StarkTech tablet and Steve had broken it not ten minutes later when he accidentally sat on it.
Natasha had opened the giftcard for her subscription to tinder and nearly murdered Tony on the spot.
The whole day had been awkward and uncomfortable and Steve had counted the minutes until it could be over.
Fast forward eleven months and twenty four days and Steve has both his fingers crossed, praying under his breath to the mother Mary that he is not making a colossal mistake right now.
‘It’s totally fine, Tony, we can do it here.’
‘I’m sorry what?’ Tony asks, his voice grating on Steve’s ears through the phone line, ‘Ec-fucking-scuse me?’
‘Tony, just, call everyone and tell them to come to our place instead, it’ll be great.’
‘Steve.’
‘Tony.’
‘Steven Grant Rogers, you want me to call up my nine Christmas dinner guests and tell them the venue for a party you declined has been moved to the Barnes-Rogers hovel.’
Steve clenches his fist so hard he can feel his knuckles pop. He breathes. He does not yell at Tony.
Yelling at Tony only ever makes things worse.
‘Yes, Tony. I would like you to call up our friends and tell them that your fancy building is currently flooded with toxic waste from your latest failed experiment and that they can all come to our place instead. Bucky and I will cover everything.’
Steve has to move his ear away from the receiver at the deafening bark of laughter that echoes down the phone at him.
‘Oh. Oh Steve. Does Bucky know about this? Is he even there?’
‘Not presently,’ Steve says, reaching his head around the door from the office to spot Buck in the garage, working on a restoration with his headphones on, singing Pat Benatar in perfect pitch. Despite the circumstances, it’s enough to make Steve smile. ’I’ll tell him in a minute. It’ll be fine.’
‘Jesus, fuck. How long have you been Married again?’
‘Three months, two days, eleven hours,’ Steve says, trying not to sound as chuffed about that as he is. He doesn’t like to give Tony ammunition.
‘Oh friend. You have so much to learn.’
Steve is pretty sure he could run circles around Tony in the husband department, but he doesn’t like to be boastful, so he keeps that knowledge to himself. ‘Whatever you say, Stark-’ he smiles as Tony grumbles, ‘-Just leave it with me, okay? We’ll make it work.’
‘You know what, I’ve changed my mind. This is a great idea. Fabulous.’
Steve narrows his eyes but doesn’t question it.
‘I’ll tell Pep, she’lll be thrilled. I can’t wait to see how this turns out.’
‘Me too,’ Steve says, unusually aggressive. ‘I have to go. See you soon.’
He hangs up to the sound of Tony laughing maniacally and throws his phone onto the couch. It bounces off and hits the wall, but the indestructible case Bucky bought him a month ago has it bouncing off again to land on the floor.
Steve leaves it there in a huff (then picks it up again and put it in his pocket. In case there's an emergency).
He needs to talk to Bucky.
Bucky who has stopped singing. Who, when Steve pokes his head around the corner, is packing up his tools and wiping his hands on a rag he keeps in his back pocket.
Bucky looks up at Steve and smiles like the sun. ’Hey handsome.’
‘Hey, baby,’ Steve replies, still tingly at the thrill of calling Bucky baby.
‘I’m pretty much done with this, Mavis is gonna pick it up tomorrow, and I’ve got nothing else now until after New Year.’ Bucky reaches up to stretch and the sight of his long neck exposed, the sliver of soft skin at his waist creeping free of his T-Shirt, Steve almost forgets himself.
But no. Shake it off. He needs to discuss this with Bucky. He doesn’t want to blindside him.
Any more than this already will (Steve is not totally unaware).
‘That's good, that’s great,’ Steve says, moving himself in through the door to stand awkwardly in the garage, making himself small so as not to knock anything expensive.
‘What’s wrong, Stevie?’
‘Nothing,’ Steve says, accidentally backing into the husk of an older bike and reaching out to grab it before it can fall over, ‘Nothing at all.’
Bucky crosses his arms over his chest and does the eyebrow thing that he does when he thinks Steve is full of shit. ‘Fess up, Steve. What have you done?’
‘Nothing bad,’ Steve places his hand out in surrender, ‘I swear, it’s like, it’s gonna be great.’
‘What is?’ Bucky’s eyebrow has not moved.
‘You know how Tony sort of exploded Stark Tower?’
‘I’m aware,’ Bucky is nodding.
‘Well he can’t find anywhere to do the Christmas dinner, Pepper wouldn’t let him force anybody out of their booking so close to Christmas.’
‘I mean, that’s fair. I always liked Pepper.’
‘And so, yeah, I just told him it would be fine.’
‘Good, okay,’ Bucky is looking at Steve, still nodding, until he catches something in Steve’s expression and then falters, ‘Wait, why is it gonna be fine?’
‘Cause I told him we can do it here.’
‘You what?’ Bucky takes a step back, his eyes wide with shock. ‘You said what?’
‘It’ll be fine, Buck, It’ll be great!’
‘Steve.’ Bucky runs his greasy hands through his hair so that it sticks up comically on top of his head. ‘Steve… it’s Christmas eve!’
‘Yeah, we can pop out to the store, we’ve got time.’
‘Steve!’ Bucky starts to walk towards him but stops out of reach, turns around and paces back, spinning to face Steve again. ‘How many people?’
‘Eight,’ Steve says, then cocks his head to think about what Tony had said, ‘No, wait. Twelve people including Tony and Pepper and you and me.’
‘And Scott and his daughter…’ Bucky has stopped pacing and is staring at Steve in horror. ‘We invited them here, remember?’
‘Oh right!’ Steve clicks his fingers, ‘Great! So okay, fourteen.’
Bucky’s face has drained of colour. ‘Fourteen people…’
Steve is nodding, caught between wanting to reach out for Bucky and keeping a respectful distance.
‘Steve, we can barely fit six people around our table.’
‘We’ll use the card table from the courtyard, and the folding chairs…’
‘You want me to sit Tony Stark and Pepper Potts in folding chairs?’
‘I’m sure they won't mind,’
‘Steve…’ Bucky has his head in his hands now, ‘oh my god.’
This is not going at all to plan. Steve had thought… well he’d just thought…
‘I thought it might be nice, you know,’ he looks at Bucky, head in hands and feels his heat sink a little, ‘I thought it might be nice to have a big Christmas here, for me, now that I have a place that feels like home.’
Bucky looks up at the admission and his face softens.‘Oh Stevie,’ he says as he steps forward, ‘Oh babe.’ He puts his arms around Steve’s shoulders and reaches up to tuck Steve’s head against his neck. Then he pulls back to look Steve in the face. ‘You really want everyone to come here to this tiny little crappy apartment?’
‘This apartment is not crappy,’ Steve says, force behind it. He thinks of the little black and white kitchen upstairs, with the gas stove top that Bucky treats better than he treats Steve, with the new Black fridge that Steve bought Bucky as a wedding gift (mostly because he eats so much Bucky’s old fridge just wasn’t big enough) and Bucky nearly fainted over when he saw it. He thinks of the island bench they bought from Ikea with the voucher they got from Scott, the sofa that Bucky had acquired from his parents second hand, that’s just big enough for both of them to lie on if Steve tucks his knees up behind Bucky’s while they watch old movies.
He thinks of all his sketches that Bucky insists they frame and hang up on the walls, the engine parts that sit proudly on shelves in their bedroom while clothes are stuffed into boxes under the bed. He thinks of the free standing tub in the bathroom that leaves no room for the two of them to stand at the sink together, but that Bucky soaks in with a reverence that Steve has never understood (but is fully supportive of)...
‘This apartment is perfect, Buck. It's ours, and it’s full of love, and I want to have the people I love come here and break bread with us.’
Bucky is looking at Steve with that smile he gets that makes Steve’s knees weak. ‘You know you’re dangerously adorable sometimes,’ he says, leaning up to kiss Steve softly. ‘Okay,’ he pulls away and takes a step back, ‘Fuck, we need to get groceries.’
‘We’re doing it?’ Steve asks, bringing his hands together under his chin.
‘We’re fucking crazy, but we’re doing it,’ Bucky says. ‘Get the bags, I’ll make a list.’ - under his breath he mumbles, ‘Oy, Christmas dinner. My bubbe would be rolling in her grave.’
Steve is bouncing on his heels. ‘Bags!’ he cries as he flies up the stairs to grab them from under the sink. He runs back down to the garage and Bucky is furiously scribbling onto a notepad.
‘Who exactly is coming?’ he asks, ‘Is anyone allergic to anything?’
Steve follows him around as Bucky continues to fire off questions, no time in between to actually answer them.
‘Do we do chicken, turkey or pork?’ Bucky keeps scribbling as he nods to the keys on the reception desk, presumably for Steve to grab. ‘Roast potatoes? Root vegetables? Oh god, it’s going to be so not good enough.’
‘You’re an excellent cook, Buck. I love your food.’
‘Steve, you love mac and cheese out of a box, you do not get to comment on my culinary prowess.’
‘I like it the way you make it,’ Steve says, mostly because he knows it will make Bucky scoff, which he does, looking over his shoulder at Steve to roll his eyes. ‘And could we do that potato casserole you make, the one that tastes like ma’s?’
Bucky’s voice is much softer when he says, ‘sure babe,’ and scribbles it onto his paper.
They climb into Bucky’s pick up with Steve behind the wheel and when Steve goes to turn off to the grocery store that they usually do their bigger shops at, Bucky shakes his head.
‘We need the big store Steve. We’re going to Wegmans.’
Steve doesn’t question it ( though how much bigger can a store get than foodtown?) and when they finally make it through traffic, find a park, get inside, Steve understands.
There is so much fresh produce he whistles under his breath at the enormity of it all. He can see Bucky tense up at the number of people they have to contend with, and so he nabs a kart, and starts using his bulk to part a way through to the butchery section.
‘Okay, what’s left?’ Bucky says as he looks over the shelves. To Steve it seems like the selection is endless, but Bucky is frowning. ‘There’s no turkey, no pork. Okay… what is going to fit in the fucking oven that will feed fourteen people. Nothing.’
Steve is getting second hand panic just watching him, but then Bucky snaps his fingers.
‘Chicken, okay,’ Bucky starts throwing plastic wrapped packages of chicken drumsticks into the kart. ‘I’ll deep fry them, then I can do the potato in the oven. We need three pounds of potato Stevie,’ Steve rushes to grab everything Bucky asks of him. Potatoes, carrots, parsnips, pees, cornflour, buttermilk - he pays no mind to the people he’s pushing past to get there. And all the while his phone is vibrating non-stop in his pocket.
He finally checks his messages as he throws the last of his items into the kart.
Nat: I heard you’re doing christmas… RIP. Also I’ll bring cookies.
🎯: Christmas at Caps!!!!!! Ok me and Kate are bringing eggnog dont ask
Doctor Banner: Is Tony messing with me? Is dinner really at your place tomorrow? If he is, ignore this, if not, tell me what to bring. This is Bruce btw.
Sam: Okay man, you are certifiable, but I can bring the cake, I have this great recipe. It’ll blow your mind.
Nat: Okay, actually text me back because I’m not sure this is a good idea.
Wanda: omg Steve, do you need anything?
Sam: Oh - we’ll bring beer too. I’m not drinking eggnog, especially if it's Clint’s.
🎯: also weve got beer for sam and torres
Pepper Potts: Steve, Tony let me know you’ve offered to host dinner. I think that’s lovely. I’m going to bring wine, but please let me know if you need anything else, I can organize catering, chairs, cutlery, whatever you need.
‘Looks like I can scrap drinks and dessert,’ Bucky says over Steve’s shoulder.
‘Oh god, do I need to reply to all of these?’ Steve says, looking over at Bucky and hoping he’ll say no.
‘Yes you do. This was your idea, hotshot, you need to coordinate.’
‘Urgh,’ Steve goes about slowly typing out responses to everyone. His hands are really too big to type ontot his stupid key-pad, which Tony thinks is hilarious and Bucky usually pats him on the head about.
They spend what feels like hours more at the store, though it seems like they’ve accomplished nothing. And by the time they finally make it home Bucky starts barking orders at him about grabbing up all the furniture they can manage to fit into their open plan dining space, shifting the couch out of the way and bringing up the furniture from the courtyard out the back of the garage downstairs. Bucky gets to work prepping all the food and cursing at himself, flying around the kitchen like a madman and somehow making it all seem graceful in a way that clutches at Steve’s heart.
‘Babe,’ Bucky says over his shoulder. ‘You don't have time to stand still, I need you cleaning.’
‘Cleaning, yes, right. On it.’ Steve turns himself in a circle, but beyond that he gets a bit lost.
‘Vacuum, the floor babe.’ Bucky isn’t even looking at him, totally focussed on peeling potatoes.
‘Vacuum. Got it.’ Steve gets himself turned the right way round and heads downstairs to the closet where they keep the cleaning supplies. He grabs the vacuum and empties the cartridge, runs it back upstairs and makes his way through every room at super speed - careful not to miss a spot - and then does the hardwood floors in the living area a second time just to be sure.
He takes it all back downstairs and then mops with the contraption that Bucky is so fond of, he fluffs the cushions on the couch that they’ve pushed to the wall, dusts the television, the cabinets, the side tables, cleans the bathrooms, anything and everything that he can think of.
By the time he’s done, Bucky is still in the kitchen, filling the dishes of creamy, layered potatoes with milk and carefully stacking them in the fridge.
‘What time is it?’ he asks Steve, not looking up.
‘Six.’
‘Okay, you order pizza for dinner, I’ll prep the chicken legs. This is fine. This is totally fine.’
He’s looking a little manic, but Steve has seen him like this once or twice before. Usually downstairs at a bike that’s not going to plan, not in their kitchen over a bag full of chicken drumsticks. But he assumes it will have the same outcome. Bucky making everything work out perfectly.
‘You’re amazing,’ Steve says out of nowhere.
Bucky looks over at him and smiles, shaking his head. ‘I’m glad you think so.’ He’s laughing, but he does take a step away from the bench to kiss Steve - who pulls Bucky back in for one, two and three more before Bucky protests. ‘I have to get this done. You’re a menace. Go. Order pizza.’
Steve salutes and does as he’s told. Cleans as much else as he can once they’ve eaten, and drags Bucky off to bed mid dishes, so that he can make sure his husband gets some sleep before tomorrow.
They both are going to need all the rest they can get.