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Everything was grey slush and Bucky was grumpy.
He frequently was grumpy after therapy. It was cold, but just enough over freezing to let the grey snow turn into grey run off. And he’d had to stop by the grocery store on the way home. And the store was packed with people buying things for holiday dinners. And he had not been in the mood to deal with people today.
Grabbing his building’s door as another resident rushed out, he shuffled in, trying to knock off some of the worst of the grey slush sticking to his boots. After fishing his keys out of his pocket, he pulled open the mailbox. Yeah, he was an old man – he knew most people “his age” checked their mail MAYBE weekly. But before making long-distance calls was affordable, before email became a thing people did, and well before FaceTime, getting mail was the way you kept up with friends and relations. Even though Bucky admitted 99% of his mail was junk, not like he had friends and family who liked writing missives my hand. But there was the occasional gem between the "going out of business" flyers and credit cards offers (no thanks, Bucky saw enough of his neighbors lose it all after the Crash). More actual mail to Bucky Barnes and not James Barnes – apparently there had been some type of Avengers Christmas Card tradition he’d gotten included on. He thumbed through the mail - one bright red envelope with a return address in Missouri and a giant calligraphy “B” on the seal, and one from overseas.
He bypassed the elevator and headed to the stairwell - no point in waiting around when he’d be up to the fourth floor on his own two feet before the elevator made it down to the lobby. Two steps at a time, super-soldier speed, he was walking down his hallway, and putting his key in the lock when he heard a voice on the other side.
“No shit, Sarah, that Lego set would blow their minds but no, FAO don’t care one bit about givin’ me no ‘saved the world’ discount.”
Bucky relaxed and reached out to the doorknob, which had been left unlocked. Again. He strode in, setting th email on the countertop while quickly putting the groceries away. Sam nodded at him briefly and continued the present buying argument with his sister.
“Fine, then, if I ask and THEN they tell me no, will you drop it? Anyway, I gotta go, Bucky just blew in. I do not know how he lives in this frozen tundra. MMmmhmm, love you too, sis. Tell the boys I’ll be home soon. ‘K, I’ll tell him.”
Sam pocketed his phone and looked up at his partner, “Thanks, man, for letting me crash.”
“Least I can do. And for the record, I lived in the frozen tundra. This is better.”
Sam rolled his eyes and peered around the apartment. “Sarah said I have to go drag you out for a tree. And we have to send her photographic evidence. Or she’s threatened to change the locks on me.”
“I’m not even going to be here on Christmas, unless you're here to uninvite me to that Real Louisiana Christmas. What’s the point?” Bucky shrugged. He started sorting through the mail, throwing the junk into the trash, and opening the actual mail. The one he suspected was from Barton, yeah Barton. The whole gang was perched on a tractor that’d seen better days, and was decked out in holiday lights. “Matching sweaters? When did that become a thing? And the matching pajamas? He nodded toward the fridge where a photo card with Scott, Hope, Cassie and an oversized ant in some aforementioned matching pajamas.
Sam strode over to look at the card, “I dunno, a few years ago? Or, uh, a decade ago?” He reached down and picked up the card from the Bartons and smiled, “Sarah said we got ours yesterday, cute kids. I know he’s been through hell. It’s great to see him happy.” He looked over at Bucky who had finished opening the London-sent card - some fancy gilded Madonna and Child, a couple of photos fell out. Picking them up from the counter, Bucky’s chin dropped.
“Holy cow,” he whispered, as he read the note inside the card.
The new Cap had reached out and pulled them gently from Bucky's hands, curious about what made his normally stoic partner make that face. One appeared to be a recent photo of a family in a hospital room surrounding a mom and new baby. He flipped to the second - a reprint of an old photo, black and white.
“Uh, Bucky? Is there anything you need to, um, tell me?”
“It’s not what you think,” he blushed.
“I think that looks an AWFUL lot like a young sergeant posing next to a very pretty girl in a London maternity ward while she’s holding a very tiny baby.”
“OK, so um yeah, it is. C’mon, hand ‘em over. I haven’t seen her since December 1944. I haven’t THOUGHT about her since….”
“Yours?” Sam had heard Steve's stories of his best friend and his way with the ladies. Finding out there was a dozen Baby Buckies in the Tristate area and across Europe was not surprising. What was surprising is Bucky knowing about one of them. Much less claiming one and not being bullied by Steve into marrying the poor girl.
“What?” Bucky’s eyes widened, “I hope you would think I would actually NOT be that shitty of a dad. At least, I'm not aware of ever leaving a dame in the family way. And Ma would have disowned me if I didn't do right by her. Much less Pops, don't care if i was 27 and Pops was near 60, he'd have flown over and found a shed to take me behind and he'd have used the good belt. Jesus, Sam. But the baby isn’t mine, I didn't meet her until a few days afore that photograph was taken.”
Sam leaned back against the cabinets, “Fess up, there’s a story. I need this story.”
Reaching into his fridge he pulled out a couple of beers, “take a seat, this one might take a while.”
***
December 24, 1944
As holiday parties in war-torn London went, this one wasn’t bad. Howard had taken charge of the SSR party and Bucky was pretty sure there was some black market shenanigans at play, but he’d kept Steve from asking. But he was done with the people and this party.
“You OK, Buck?” Steve walked up to him as he stood by the back door, watching Howard play “Father Christmas” with the worst English accent ever. “You look a million miles away.”
“Wish I was a million miles away,” he drained his punch glass, “Or really 3500 miles.”
Steve frowned, and clasped his best friend’s arm, “Missin’ the Barnes Family Christmas?”
“Never realize how much you like something until you don’t get it, isn’t that what they say? I mean, this spread is fancy, but I’d trade it all for Ma’s dry turkey, Becca’s arguments about what records to play, and Pops taking way too long to say grace.”
The blond smiled, “And you making faces at me trying to get me to crack up while he droned on? You know that got me into so much trouble one Christmas.”
“How was I supposed to know you couldn’t keep it together?”
“Jerk,” he punched him in the arm.
Bucky looked around the room, “I mean, this is heaps better than last Christmas when we spent it getting debriefed from all the Kreischberg crap. But still, this isn’t home. And not just cuz Ma would sooner step outside in her housedress than allow liquor at her table”
The pair stood next to each other in silence as a waiter walked by with champagne, Bucky grabbed a couple and downed one, then the second.
“Careful there, Buck.”
“I think they watered it down, and if that punch was actually spiked… “
Steve’s eyebrows furrowed together. “How much have you had?”
“Not enough.” Bucky looked around the room again, a few dames had been smiling at him and normally he might be up for some flirting and maybe fun. But he was too homesick.
“I’m gonna go for a walk, and I’ll see you back at HQ?”
Once again his friend looked at him with concern. “You sure?”
“Yeah, try to pretend it’s Brooklyn and not London?”
“OK, I’ll see you later. Remember we gotta hang our stockings up before we go to sleep tonight,”
Bucky rolled his eyes, and walked out the doors.
Nothing had felt right for the past year. He mostly suceeded in not thinking about being tied down and experimented on. But tonight he wasn’t feeling moody over that, but good old fashioned wanting to be home at Christmas. He’d never missed one ever until last year. He REALLY hoped he’d be back home next Christmas. The way they were going through HYDRA bases and the war in Europe was tipping in favor of the Allies. He just hoped no one made the Howlies go over to the Pacific. But maybe, if the cards worked out right, he could actually be home for Christmas. Maybe.
He looked up at the sky and hoped for some snow. It might help his mood if there was snow.
Almost like the universe wanted to punish him for looking up, he winced as the air raid sirens went off.
“Fuck,” he looked up to figure out where he was and where he could go. Running by him a couple of telegram boys hollered, “sir, follow us,”
They led him down to an unused Underground depot. The two quickly began to set up their small shelter. Bucky asked what he could do to help as he noticed a small old lady walk in with her dog on a lead.
“Ma’am” he nodded to her. “Can I help?”
She laughed, “Ach, no, lad. I just needta sit and rest me bones and wait on these damn Nazis to finish this foolishness. I shoulda known better than to expect them not to ruin Christmas Eve.”
“No, ma’am, might be expectin’ too much of them. But I promise, this is last Christmas Eve they’ll mess up. We got ‘em on the run.”
All four heads turned as another person headed down the stairs, waddling slowly. She was dressed warmly but even under the layers, it was obvious that their newest companion was very pregnant.
“Any room at the Inn?” her crisp London accent tried to make light of the situation. Her hand rested on her stomach. Bucky rushed forward to help her down the final few steps before the elderly Scotswoman was able to motion to the younger boys to make a comfortable seat for the mother-to-be.
“We have room, dearie,” she smiled. “We’ll get you back home safe and sound in no time. Were you out alone?” Her old eyes looked over the younger woman, assessing how far along their new guest was.
“Yes, ma’am, my parents are down in Cornwall with my brothe and his family. I didn’t want to leave London and my midwife, being this close along. Or my Teddy’s parents.”
“Ah,” She pulled out some hard candy from her bag and passed the bag around the room, “I’m Mrs. Cunningham, we might be here a while from the sound of it out there. We should make some introductions.” She looked over at the two boys.
The taller one nodded, “My name is George Wright.”
“Archie, Archie Lewis,” the red-headed boy smiled shyly. Both young boys turned to the taller American.
“Sgt. James Barnes, at your service.”
“Sgt. Barnes, it’s nice to have an American about in all this hullabaloo. My late husband always said you could count on an American to get you through a pinch.”
“Dunno about all that, ma’am, but I’ll try. Mostly I hope we’re in for a long boring night.” He looked over at their other companion, “And our beautiful mother-to-be?”
She looked up from her lap or her belly, “Emma Davies.” She fretted, “Teddy’s parents are going to be in such a fright. They didn’t know I’d gone out tonight. I might’ve snuck out. I needed air.”
“Likewise,” Bucky chuckled. “Stevie’s gonna just go bonkers, considering I left maybe the safest place in all of London for a sulk.”
Archie smiled, “Lots of those out tonight, we noticed - Sulking that is. But it’s been a nice night for us, until now. Normally people hate to see us, but tonight’s mostly been Happy Christmas after Happy Christmas. People seem to feel more hopeful for ‘45 than they did last year.”
Emma glanced at them, her face falling, “I’m sorry you have to … it can’t be easy, but from someone who got one of those, it helps to have a sympathetic face.”
Everyone got quiet for a while before Mrs. Cunningham offered a quiet, “Who did you loose, dearie?”
“Teddy. His ship… “
Bucky muttered a “fuck” under his breath, earning him a side-eye from the elderly matron and a giggle from the boys.
Mrs. Cunningham winced as the ground shook with the sound of bombs. The two boys had settled down against the wall and Bucky had taken a spot nearest the stairwell as a bit of a look-out.
“We need some distraction, here, Archie, give us a carol to sing.”
“I am paetial to thel Holly and the Ivy, ma’am,”
The four British began singing the unfamiliar carol as Bucky watched them smiling sadly. Definitely this was not the kind of Christmas Eve he’d have back home in Brooklyn. Once they’d finished the old carol, they started on another. It was almost as if they were able to tune out the sounds from outside after a few songs. They were smiling and laughing, and soon discussion turned to memories of favorite Christmases past. George had been recounting the time his brothers had knocked the lit figgy pudding off the table while fighting over crackers.
“Oooph” Emma grimaced. Mrs. Cunningham quickly jumped up and motioned for the young boys to move the stack of crates she’d been sitting on next to the younger lady.
“They've been coming for a while right?”
“Yes ma’am. They said it would be normal leading, um, up to delivery.”
Her companion's grey head nodded, “That one seemed really bad, here hold my hand for the next.” Too soon for Bucky’s comfort, the two women reacted as another contraction hit.
“Hmmm, Sergeant, I think we might need some assistance here,” Mrs. Cunningham waved him over. About that time Emma gasped. And the unmistakable sound of trickling water on the cobblestone filled the shelter.
“Bollocks,” she yelped. “This is not where I’m supposed to be having baby.”
“Don’t worry, my mother was a midwife, and I was going into that career before I met Dr. Cunningham. I’ve helped through many a laboring lass in addition to having my own five. We’ll get through this. Sergeant, boys, do any of you have a blanket or anything we can put down?”
Before the boys could reply, Bucky had shrugged off his Army-issued wool trench coat, “This do?”
“Aye, that’ll do, help me get her down. George, dear, can you watch after my Effie. Archie, please look in my bag for a wee first aid kit.” Mrs. Cunningham looked up and saw Bucky helping Mrs. Davies down. “All good dearie? Is it OK if I check to see how we’re fairing, Mrs. Davies?”
“Emma, please. Mrs. Davies is my Teddy’s mum.”
Mrs. Cunningham took a look under the long skirts, making some noises while she did a bit of poking and prodding.
“Well, baby is not going to wait until the all clear I am afraid. Sgt. Barnes, I am going to need your help.”
Bucky gaped, but strode over to kneel next to Emma’s side.
“No, no, young man, down here. My hands are much too shaky these days to be of any use in this. I need you to catch baby after mother does the work. Archie, come up here and let Emma lean against you. And give her two of your fingers to squeeze. Understand, just two.” She looked up at Bucky, who was still half-hunched down next to Emma. “Sargeant, I need you down here, now, please.” Her tone brooked no argument.
“But, um, I’ve, um, uh.” But he moved and knelt down next to the older lady.
Her wrinkled hand reached out and patted his, “I’d take off those gloves, this is going to be a bit messy. And I know young men are not usually in this situation, but my options are you or one of those two lads. I’d rather not further traumatize them by having watching birth be their first exposure to a lady’s parts. And Dear Husband served as a medic in the Great War so I know soldiers see things more than war, no matter how prim or proper you might have been before.”
His cheeks reddened as he coughed, “Um, much to my ma’s dismay, I’ve never been much for the prim part of that.”
“Alright then, come and I’ll walk you through this. It looks as if baby is all settled right And felt that way too. It doesn’t look like you are quite ready to really start push, Emma, but you look farther along than I think you suspected. But I do not think it will be too much longer. No more than an hour. This being your first."
The quintet tried to continue to pass the time with stories between the contractions that Bucky reckoned were no more than a few minutes apart at this point.
Mrs. Cunningham had given him a brief lesson in what was involved in catching a newborn. And he was sure she was laughing inwardly at his face rotating from white as a sheet to red as a beet. Bucky also wasn't sure he'd ever be able to look at a girl the same way ever again. Most men didn't get up close and personal with this aspect of fatherhood. Hell, last letter from his sister, she had told him that her and her new husband, who he'd not even met, were expecting. Becca was gonna have to go through this. Dear God. He was gonna punch Chuck Proctor.
Lost in his thoughts, he missed Mrs. Cunningham telling their patient it was time to push.
"Sergeant," her clipped tone brought him back, "time to start the hard work. I'll coach her through it but I need you to keep your eyes on baby."
"Yes,ma'am," he looked at the crowning head and took a deep breath.
"Emma, dear, next contraction I want you to push down, but not too hard. Sergeant, if you see and tearing, let me know right away. I'd rather go slower and avoid a tear than fast and tear with no good sterile suturing available. "
"Tear?" George looked positively green.
"My midwife told me that can happen but I agree, slow and… oomph," Emma winced.
"Push, dear, there you go," Mrs. Cunningham looked from the mother-to-be and to Bucky, glancing quickly between the laboring mother's legs. "Good girl, a few more like that and we can all go get some tea."
Bucky watched as the baby's head slowly, but really fast too, came out with a half dozen more pushed. Like instructed he cradled the head. He'd tended to wounded men on the battle field with less… fluid. But the nervousness had given way to sheer determination. He'd never met and would never get to meet Sailor Teddy, buy by God, his kid was gonna be treated like the most precious thing on Earth.
In the background he heard Mrs. Cunningham coach the young girl, she can't be older than Becca, and suddenly the shoulders, more fluid, and the rest of the baby slipped out.
Bucky crouched there, in awe, there's a baby there. A new human born amid all this war. And as instructed he fished a finger around the baby's mouth and patted his back. Wait. His.
"You have a son, ma'am."
"A boy! Teddy wouldn't ever tell me he would prefer a son but I one he wanted a little boy."
Grabbing his pocket knife, he quickly cut the cord. He gently passed the baby to Mrs. Cunningham who had given her cardigan to the cause. Soon a bright red bundle was nestled against his mother.
George and Archie looked as amazed by the new baby as Bucky felt. Mrs. Cunningham pulled out her pocket watch, "Baby is a Christmas Baby. Just barely but 12:20 on Christmas Day." Everyone laughed and Bucky didn't even mind the tears and clapped the younger men on the shoulders.
"Now to take care of the afterbirth," Mrs. Cunningham nodded towaed the American. They'd just delivered the placenta when the all clear sounded.
Archie jumped up, and handed the dogs lead to his friend and ran out to find a copper or home guard. Before too long an ambulance crew was loading mother and baby. Everyone exclaimed this was the best hospital trip after a raid they'd ever undertake.
Bucky hung back as Mrs. Cunningham finished telling the paramedics all the medical bits they'd need. The boys ran behind the ambulance hooping and hollering.
"Thank you, young man," Mrs. Cunningham smiled up at him. "My little flat is only a block away and you have no coat and could offer a wash up I think. Walk this old lady home. I'll love telling my children a handsome soldier escorted me home."
Hours later, decked out in the musty coat once belonging to Dr. Cunningham and grinning ear to ear, Bucky opened the door to his and Steve's shared room.
"Well, look who the cat dragged in," Steve shook his head. "I had been getting worried but looks like you had a fun night. I'm over here thinking the worst while you've obviously had a fun night."
Bucky collapsed on his small bed and sighed, "I'm not sure fun is how I'd describe it, but it was damn magical. I hardly believe it happened. Just wait until you hear about my night."
Steve scowled at him, "Really? You grew out of kissing and telling by the time you were 16."
"Oh, trust me, this needs telling, then I'm getting some sleep in."
***
Sam's face was an almost carbon copy of Steve's 80 years before.
"Wow, man, that's, a story." Bucky blushed, "A few days later I got a call from Emma's dad inviting me to visit. So Steve and me headed over. Steve's who took the photograph. It was a breath of fresh air we all needed for that final push. I should see if I can find out what happened to Mrs. C and the boys. Boys might still be alive, might." Bucky read the paragraphs a couple more times, Emma died in 79, he says. Got remarried in the 50s so he has younger stepbrother and a stepsister. But she'd always tell the story about the Howling Commando that delivered her in the middle of an air raid. Kinda glad she died before all the… came out."
Bucky looked down at his hands, "Something to remember, I guess. Despite how many lives these hands have taken, at least they brought one in. "
"More than one," Sam spoke up. Reading the note in the card, "Your Mr. Theodore James Davies got married and had four kids who then all had kids, and that there is his first great-grandchild. That's a total of 15 lives you touched because of that one night. Damn."
Bucky picked the picture up, and grinned, "They do look like an awfully happy family."
"You gonna write him back? Or call? Hell, he's even included his email. I mean…"
Bucky looked at the clock, "it's just after 3 here, so … 8 isn't too late to call."
Bucky rolled his eyes as the phone rang on the other end.
"Hello, Davies residence," the crisp accent answered.
"Um, yes, is Theodore there? This is, uh, Bucky, Bucky Barnes."
"Well, I'll be damned, you got the card. This is T.J."
Sam grinned ear to ear, overhearing enough of the call. Bucky didn't feel grumpy anymore.
Maybe a small tree wouldn't be so bad.