~Frederick County, MD, December 22, 2014~

Breathe in. One, two. Breathe out. One, two. Still the mantra that kept her going, that kept her breathing steadily, even with the added difficulty of running on snow. Of course, having her bionic prosthetic hardly made that an obstacle for Kim, whose pace had remained constant ever since she'd set out from home. How much time had even passed since then? She didn't bother to glance at her watch, however; she just kept going. Kept pumping her legs in a rhythmic manner as she made her trek down the long street, seeing her breath escape in fine white clouds of mist every time she exhaled.

Damn it, Aunt Laura! Her mind hissed again, one arm swinging out to punch at the air. There are days when I wish you'd just shut up! Another day, another senseless argument, and this was Kim's way of coping. Even though Laura hadn't been back to visit since the funeral, Kim made it a point to keep in touch with her at least once a week, whether it was a phone call or a quick text to check in. Their conversations, of course, did not always turn out pleasant, and today proved to be no exception.

She huffed out a breath. It wasn't how she wanted things to be between them. Since her grandmother's death, she'd hoped things might improve, even if only by the smallest of degrees. But to listen to her berate her one more time over her choice to pursue this internship and continue her work with Stark? Her foot came down, and she bounced forward a few meters before she hit the ground again and kept running. No matter how many times Kim tried to explain it to her, Laura didn't want to listen. She wanted to have the final say in any matter she disagreed with, and it was clear that only that would suffice. So many times, Kim just wanted to scream in frustration until her throat was raw and her lungs burned, but instead, she kept running. Expelling the negative energy in the best way she knew how; the most effective way to ease the pain from her chest.

Don't stop, she told herself. Breathe in. Breathe out. Keep going; don't stop. Still such a meditative practice; still such a necessity for her heart and mind. Never stop…doing what you need to do…

Turning the corner at Higgins Road, Kim ran on. They'd plowed most of the residential streets after Friday's round of snowfall, but at this time of day, they were practically deserted. So far, she'd come across only one car during her entire jog, and certainly no other runners. Sometimes, she wondered if her neighbors found it odd for her to continue running after the onset of winter, but no matter what elements she faced, she needed the practice. Needed to push herself more and more each day to see how far she could go.

Needed to discover any new tricks REBECCA had hidden within her metallic contours.

Her current route was flanked on both sides by thick patches of dark, naked trees, quite the stark contrast to the otherwise bright whiteness of the wintry world around her. Cold. It was so cold out here, but the blood coursing through her veins helped to keep her limbs warm. An occasional trickle of sweat even crept its way down her temple, managing to slip past the fleece headband protecting her ears from the biting chill of the air. It was amazing to see how far she'd come in the past six months alone, and she didn't intend to slow down now. Each day, she was growing stronger, the muscles in her legs becoming even more defined, her stamina ever-improving, and somehow, she knew that she was only beginning to test the limitations of her prosthetic. That was evident not only in the ease with which she ran, or the longer distances she was able to cover, but also with many of the supplementary exercises she'd included that involved—

A flash of shadow in her peripheral vision had her eyes going wide, a harsh gasp tearing from her throat. Skidding to a halt in the middle of the road, Kim looked in the direction where she'd seen the movement, but just as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone.

No, a voice inside her mind said. No, not gone. Watching. Waiting.

Despite the steady pounding of her heart in her ears, the rest of her senses were on full alert, scanning her surroundings very slowly, very carefully. As she regained control of her breathing, the pounding in her ears gradually faded to a dull thrum. It had become habit to leave her headphones at home while she went on her runs lately, and as she continued to listen, the distant shrill call of a bird she couldn't quite identify reached her ears. A lonely sound. A cry that made the desolate woods seem sadder than ever. Typically, her music would have drowned out such sounds, but leaving those behind forced her to pay closer attention to the world around her. Made her more aware of every little sound that reached her ears—

She heard it before she saw it, and choking back a gasp, she instinctively stomped her right foot down, leaping just out of reach of the hand that suddenly attempted to grab her. Upon landing, there was no hesitation: she took off at a dead sprint, the sudden rush of adrenaline causing her heart to race, and triggering a deep-seeded will to escape. To survive.

HYDRA, she thought to herself, never slowing her pace as she ducked into the barren woods beside her. HYDRA is after me! Weaving deftly through the trees, she heard snow crunching beneath her feet, but could also hear the heavy steps of her pursuer behind her.

Faltering when her foot hit a raised tree root, Kim used the momentum of falling forward to roll into a summersault, and sprang back to her feet just as quickly as she had stumbled. And still she was running, not caring about the snow that was clinging to her hair and clothes. Hearing the heavy breaths and crunching footsteps of her assailant close in on her, she made a quick decision and stomped down hard, sending her flying in a nearly straight line to the left. The curse she heard behind her told her she'd temporarily gotten the upper hand, and she shifted herself into an even faster pace. Let Mercury fly, as Stark would sometimes tell her.

They'll never stop, she reminded herself. HYDRA never stops. Not until they catch you, or until you're dead. They'll never stop, so I'll never stop. Never stop. Never…

She ducked just as an arm swung at her head, hearing an electrical charge and the ensuing CRACK as it collided with the trunk of a young tree, and she knew it must have split the poor sapling in two. Jesus! She hissed to herself. Go!

She did. Summoning every possible ounce of strength in her body, she pushed on until the constant rush of cold air hitting her face had tears forming in her eyes. Doesn't matter, she insisted, ignoring the hot lines that were seeping from the corners. Keep going; don't stop.

All the while, her eyes darted from tree to tree, desperately trying to identify the qualities she needed to—

There! Making a sharp right turn, Kim barely had time to analyze her angles before jumping off her left foot at the large maple she'd spotted. Throwing her right foot flat against the solid trunk, the ensuing bounce had her launching up to the neighboring tree, just out of reach of the metal fingers that tried to grab her once more. She'd timed it well: Kim was soaring right above the branch she'd been aiming for, and brought her right foot down on it to bounce yet again, sending her to the next branch up. Grasping it with her hands, she managed to swing and pull herself up, maneuvering until her footing was steady enough for her to crouch upon the sturdy limb.

Yes, she thought to herself, trying to steady her heaving breaths as she looked down at the figure standing at least fifteen feet below her.

Bucky was staring back up at her, his breathing just as heavy as hers, little white puffs of cloud escaping his lips with every breath. Seeing him dressed in little more than his cap and her father's dark sweats hardly surprised her; the cold didn't seem to bother him all that much.

He was still staring at her intently, but then giving a slow nod, he simply said, "Good."

She blinked, then gave a half-smile. He'd given her a decent run today, and even she had to quietly praise herself for how much she seemed to be improving each time he tested her. "Thanks," she said breathlessly, inhaling deeply to help calm her racing heartbeat.

Then she thought she could see him smirk. "Forget something?" Reaching back, he pulled an item from the waistband of his sweatpants: the dagger he'd given her over the summer, safely encased inside its curved sheath.

Ah. She had forgotten to take it with her. Sliding down from where she was perched, Kim deftly descended the branches of the tall maple, jumping down from the last branch and landing solidly in the thick snow before her great-uncle. No kick-back; just like anytime she focused on landing on her feet. Still, Bucky's arms were poised to catch her just in case, a notion that never ceased to touch her.

Holding out the dagger to her, he said, "You should be getting into the habit of using this when I attack."

Pursing her lips, she accepted it from him. "I know, but…"

"You remember what I've said."

"Yeah, I know," she turned it over in her hands. For the past five months, he'd made good on his promise not only to help her learn how to better control her leg, but also how to fight like him. Though it had been quite a great deal to take in, Kim was pleasantly surprised at just how therapeutic the combat skills really were. Kind of similar to when she and her grandmother used to dance, but more intense, and with kicks and punches. And knives. The knives, however, were still taking some getting used to. It was one thing to take a swing at him, but it was something else entirely to potentially wound the man. "It's just very different from practicing with sticks."

"I heal fast, Kim. You don't have to be afraid of hurting me."

She chewed absently on her lip. "And if I do?"

"Kim," he took a step towards her. "Hand-to-hand combat is vastly different from using a mock weapon. You need to understand how to wield it; how the weight of it feels in your hand, and how the distribution of that weight changes based on your movements. You need to know how to strike at an opponent, and how to take advantage if you've wounded them." He placed a hand on her shoulder. "I want you to be ready for anything. You've come so far in your training, but it's time to really apply what you've learned."

She released a sigh, but had to smile inwardly. It was nice to hear Bucky talking at such great length, considering how quiet he'd been in the beginning. The man was brilliant; that much was obvious when he was given the chance to speak, which she'd discovered could have been one of nine different languages that he knew. It wasn't exactly a shock to hear it, since he had a tendency to slip into Russian when he was particularly stressed. With his missions as the Winter Soldier taking him to various countries around the world, HYDRA would have wanted him to have knowledge of the languages he'd encounter. Regardless of what he spoke, though, she liked listening to his voice. It was soothing. Surprisingly so. "It's not just hurting you that I'm worried about," she admitted, looking down at the claw-like blade as she unsheathed it.

Without a word, he reached out to gently encircle her right wrist with his fingers, turning her palm face-up and pulling back the edge of her glove just enough to see the skin underneath. Scattered around the base of her palm was a series of fading red marks at the base of her palm, some still scabbed, some smoothed over. Evidence of where she'd nicked herself with the tip of the blade while practicing. There were quite a few of them. What was amazing, though, was that the marks weren't developing into the scars she'd been expecting.

He swiped his thumb across the healing marks. "The more you second-guess," he said, meeting her eyes as he pulled her glove back down, "the more likely you are to hurt yourself."

Her eyes never left his. It was such a simple statement to make, but it dredged up so many memories of the weeks following her amputation, of the agony she'd endured learning to simply walk again. Except it wasn't simple. Losing a leg had been an absolute trauma to her body, and there was a great deal of adjustment that had to be made in order for her to even take those first few steps on her own.

But eventually, she had taken those steps, had gone far beyond the expectations proposed by her doctors and therapists as her strength steadily improved, and a newfound determination started billowing warmly beneath her chest. This isn't simple, either, she told herself, but that's not going to hold you back. Slipping the ring at the end of the dagger over her forefinger, Kim's fingers grasped the handle firmly. "Pokazhite mne, serzhant?"

There was an approving glimmer in Bucky's eyes. It would take a long time before she could speak Russian fluently, but he'd been helping her learn a few phrases here and there. "Na strazhe, soldat." They both dropped back into fighting stances. "Half-speed," he instructed.

Her hands at the ready, Kim gave a nod.

"Attack."

Kim advanced, closing the distance between them and keeping her movements carefully controlled as she swung her armed hand at his head. Bucky easily parried the attack with his metal forearm, keeping his reactions just as controlled as hers, and Kim maneuvered her hand to bring the curved blade around the outside of his wrist before briefly pausing.

"Good," he rasped, then pulled his arm back to make his next move.

Instincts took over as Kim circled him in the snow, executing blocks and exchanging blows with the experienced soldier. Retreat; block. Advance. Advance. Duck; attack low. Retreat. Wait…block, lunge. That last move had her hooking the blade behind his neck before she paused again.

"Good," he repeated, and it continued from there.

Despite her apprehensions, she actually loved learning how to fight with her dagger—her karambit. There was such fluidity to the fighting style, such grace, and it really wasn't a stretch to compare it to dancing. There was footwork involved; and timing; the simultaneous utilization of several different muscles; spatial awareness of where she was in relation to her partner…or, in this case, a potential enemy. What also came as a pleasant surprise was how nimble she could be while wielding this particular dagger. Being a close-range weapon, Bucky had taught her various ways to manipulate the positioning of her hands in order to regain the upper-hand, should she ever find herself at a disadvantage in a combative situation. Even when he held her demonstrative chokeholds, she managed to maneuver herself until the blade was in direct contact with him yet again, which would allow her to tear her opponent's skin, if need be.

Resetting once more, Bucky instructed her to use her leg, and at his next advance, Kim did just that. Implementing a series of kicks and bounces with the metal appendage, she evaded a majority of his attacks with surprising ease, at times even launching herself at him in an attempt to knock him off-balance. It still amazed her just how agile she'd become with the prosthetic under his tutelage. She was performing stunts she'd never been capable of before the accident, and it emboldened her to take even greater risks as she continued to develop her skills.

And since they were out in the snow…

Stomping down, Kim managed to bounce high enough to flip sideways in mid-air, but a slight miscalculation had her cursing to herself, and sure enough, she came down hard on her side in the cold snow. Grunting in discomfort, she became aware of the hand seizing her wrist, wrenching the dagger from her hand and pressing it beneath her chin, which caused her to go completely still. Releasing a heavy sigh, she opened her eyes, seeing Bucky's steely gaze boring into her.

Damn it, she thought bitterly. Her second attempt at that move had once again ended in failure.

But the harsh expression on Bucky's face didn't remain. "Good effort," he praised, pulling the blade away from her neck before offering his hand, "but next time, keep yourself tucked while you're airborne. You'll be more likely to maintain a constant velocity that way."

Kim stared at him as those words sunk in, then released a heavy sigh, accepting the hand being held out to her. Doing so caused her to wince slightly at the stinging pain she felt, and she jerked her hand back to pull off her right glove.

"Ah, crap," she muttered, seeing two fresh marks smeared with blood at the base of her palm. She'd managed to stab herself through the thin fabric with the tip of the dagger. Before she could inspect them any further, though, Bucky was already carefully cupping her hand in both of his, lightly running the fingers of his right hand over the small wounds. They stung at his touch, but she assured him, "It's not bad."

"Even so," he muttered, grabbing a handful of snow to press against her palm. The icy coldness bit into her skin as it melted, but the sensation was nonetheless soothing, helping to ease the burning pain.

Then she caught sight of the jagged tear at the back of his right glove, and the bright red blood seeping through the visible cut in his skin. "I nicked you again."

He shook his head once. "You know I'm alright."

She shot him her best reprimanding-Rebecca-look. "Even so," she countered, sliding her damp hand from his to pull his glove off. The cut didn't appear to be very deep, but she hated drawing blood on him, regardless of how fast he could heal. Gathering her own handful of snow, she pressed it firmly to his wound, letting it melt a bit before rubbing back and forth to wash away the traces of blood from his skin. Once most of that handful had melted, she grabbed another, repeating her actions until the bleeding had stopped. The whole time, Bucky was silent, and she didn't have to look at him to know he was watching her. Probably studying her.

You take care of me, I take care of you, she thought. That had been the unspoken agreement between them since he'd come into her life, and she intended to make that known to him whenever possible.

"You're getting better, Kim," he said.

She gave a fleeting smile, but didn't look up.

"You are," he insisted, "and I'm damn proud of you."

At that, she finally released a sigh, lifting her eyes to his. No matter how many times he said it, it meant a great deal to hear those words from him, meant so much to know that someone with a blood-connection to her was going to be proud of her achievements. This time when she smiled, it remained. "Thanks."

He, too, gave a small smile of his own, holding out his hand to her once more. Grabbing it with her left, Kim let him hoist her to her feet, brushing away the remnants of powdery snow still clinging to her clothes.

"Hungry?" Bucky asked.

"Starving," she answered, brushing the last of the snow from her sleeve.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Come on, then," he said, resting a hand on her shoulder as he began leading her back toward the road. "You've earned it."

They'd each already downed two full glasses of water, and despite the mild chaos of the lunch rush, Emma was already returning with a full pitcher in hand.

"Pies will be out soon, loves," she reported, her British accent floating between them as she refilled their empty glasses, "just have to take care of a few orders that came up, and then I'll be back."

"You're good, Emma," Kim said. "Thanks."

"Oh, and Kim dear," she reached into her apron. "I know these only seem to get worse," she muttered, handing her two fresh bandages, "but you can thank Dave for stocking the kit this month."

Kim had to laugh, rather amused at the wrappers indicating the Spongebob Squarepants band-aids inside. "It's fine," she assured, tearing one open. "Give him a noogie for me."

At that, Emma laughed gently, tucking back and errant tress that had come loose from her braid. "If I ever figure out what that means..." Shaking her head, she turned on her heel and hurried back to the counter, her white sneakers hardly making a sound against the checkered-tile floor.

Smoothing one adhesive strip over the bottom of her palm, Kim eyed Bucky from across the table. Even though he'd become a little less uptight with frequent exposure to the diner's atmosphere, he still kept conversations with others to a bare minimum. At least with Emma, he seemed to be feeling slightly more at ease in her presence, even when she made occasional attempts at small talk, quite the step up from being completely closed off to everyone else around him. Kim was quietly grateful, though, that she didn't press him for conversation, even if he neglected to respond to her questions at times.

Still…there had been some public instances lately that gave her reason to pause, caused her to watch him a little more closely than usual. Like the way he'd slowly removed his baseball cap once Emma came by with their first round of waters, something he'd only done on their past two or three visits here. Nor did it escape her attention that he'd almost imperceptibly angled his head in her direction as she walked away, as if to keep her in his line of vision for just a moment longer.

Kim, however, didn't feel the need to mention her observations at this time. "I needed that run today," his eyes snapped back to her as she took a sip of her water. "Thanks."

He lifted an eyebrow. Normally, she probably wouldn't have noticed if he'd still had his hat on, but like this, the details of his face were much more apparent. Unruly dark hair still framing a face that was often covered in stubble, despite the fact that she'd given him access to her grandfather's old shaving kit some time ago. Still, it was a face she'd grown accustomed to seeing every single day since July, and it had become as dear to her as any other member of her family.

Reaching for his own glass, he asked, "What was it about this time?"

Letting her gaze drift downward, she drew in a breath, releasing it slowly through her nostrils. "What's it about every single time?" She asked rhetorically, though her voice remained calm. "Same old grief over the same old shit."

He'd swallowed at least half of his water. "About your work."

"She still refuses to acknowledge it as real work; to her, it's nothing more than busywork for an over-privileged billionaire."

"But it's important to you," he countered firmly. "You've been working towards it for years, and now you're doing it, regardless of what she thinks."

It was nice knowing that he'd taken the time to learn about her personal ambitions. She traced her fingers around the rim of her glass. "She just can't accept the fact that I've decided this isn't the right time for me to go to college."

"That's your decision; not hers."

"I know." She paused, looking up at him again. "We won't have to worry about her visiting for Christmas, by the way. She got pissed enough that she said she'll be staying in Virginia for the holidays."

"Are you okay with that?"

Again, she sighed. Despite their obvious tensions, Bucky knew how much she wanted to maintain ties with her aunt, and would always be quick to question her feelings on such matters. "Don't have much choice on the matter, now, do I?" Truth be told, though, having Laura repeatedly bring up the same arguments would often leave her so mentally drained that she didn't have the strength to argue with her at length. Sometimes, it was just best to let her have her say, and then just be done with it. She half-shrugged. "It is what it is, Buck. I can't force her to change her mind, and maybe…maybe it's better that she just stay away this year." Being without her mother at Christmas was not going to be easy; Kim could certainly attest to that. Perhaps it wouldn't have been the wisest idea for Laura to be in a place that would dredge up so many memories.

"Okay," Bucky said at last.

Okay, her mind replied, offering him a small smile. "You know, you really haven't given me much of a Christmas wish list," she picked up her glass again, "and I really don't think that Hot Pockets count as much of a gift idea, Bucky."

He cocked his head. "I meant what I said, Kim: there's nothing I need, so you don't have to worry about it."

She lifted her brows at him, letting her voice drop a bit lower. "You think I'm gonna let you spend your first Christmas with me and get you nothing?" Her fingers absently toyed with the dog-tags around her neck. "Not to mention this is your first Christmas free of HYDRA, and that sure as hell is worth celebrating." At that, his eyes widened slightly. "Figured you would know your niece a little bit better than that by now."

For a long moment, he stared, those uncertain grey-blue orbs searching hers. But then she could detect the softening of his features, and the bare hint of a smile finally touching his eyes.

That alone was enough to make her heart swell beneath her chest. "Okay," she waved a hand, "so…if you won't tell me what you need for Christmas, is there anything that you want?"

At that, he seemed to hesitate, but then opened his mouth to—

"Right, then," Emma reappeared at that very moment, causing Bucky to clam up as she came into view and reached for the plates on her circular tray. "Cherry for Kim," she set the plate in front of her, "peach for James."

Kim smiled to herself. Bucky had decided that that was his favorite flavor months ago, and most of the time, Emma didn't have to bother taking their order when they came in. "Perfect," Kim exhaled, unrolling her silverware from her napkin. "My stomach thanks you."

"Certainly, dearie," she said, setting a cup of hot tea in front of her, and, of course, black coffee for Bucky. He didn't look up at her, but Kim heard him quietly mutter a "Thanks" under his breath. Lowering her now empty tray, Emma audibly exhaled and gave a relieved smile. "And here I thought things would at least quiet down once the semester ended."

Kim grinned, picking up her fork. "Rush been like this all day?"

"It has been, but it's proper mad around here the closer we get to the holidays," she brought one hand to rub at the back of her neck. "Last minute shoppers needing a lunch break, all that. You'd think I'd be used to it after six years." She smiled softly at Kim again. "I could use a bit of a break, though; been running non-stop for four hours now. You mind if I take a load off for a bit?"

Kim's eyebrows shot up at the inquiry. "Umm…" Normally, she wouldn't have had any objection to such a minor request, but…

Looking across at Bucky, she could see him staring down at the table, not saying a word as he rubbed the metal fingers of his left hand together. A sign of stress? No; he usually carried stress in his shoulders. This was more of an indication that he was contemplating something. Still, it was hard to say if she couldn't see his eyes. But then, to Kim's surprise, he silently slid over, making room for Emma to sit down.

Whoa, she thought. That's…definitely a first. Even Emma appeared to be taken aback at his silent gesture, more than likely expecting Kim to be the one to move over. Not him.

But then she felt herself smiling, looking back up at her to say, "Yeah, go ahead," she indicated with one hand. "Sit."

There was a further moment of hesitation from Emma, whose blue eyes were still trained on Bucky, but then she turned and placed her tray on the counter of the nearby server-station before turning back to their table. Kim could tell she was keeping her movements deliberately slow as she slid into the booth next to Bucky, who shifted himself just a little bit closer to the wall. He wasn't looking at her, but her eyes never left him as she settled into place.

"Thank you," she said to him quietly.

Bucky briefly cleared his throat, ducking his head just a bit more.

Letting herself sink back against the creaking vinyl, Emma looked to over at her, releasing an appreciative sigh. Kim envied her posture, even in a relaxed state. "Oh yes: that is much better."

With a small laugh, Kim finally stuck her fork into her pie. "Need a bite of this at all?"

"Oh, no, thank you," Emma waved a hand. "Dave's already made a sandwich for me, so I've been picking at that whenever I go back to the kitchen. That's helping to keep up the blood sugar levels."

"Okay," she inadvertently said around her mouthful of food, placing her hand in front of her mouth until she was done chewing. "Mm, sorry."

"You're fine. I know how hungry you both are whenever you pop in here." She glanced over at Bucky—who was halfway through eating his pie, though had his head angled toward her—and then looked back at Kim. "If I had nearly half the energy that you two seem to have, I'd need to eat more, too."

Kim mulled that over, taking her time before swallowing her mouthful. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't impressed with my energy levels myself, but Tony's been good about keeping a close eye on me. So far, nothing seems too out of the ordinary…except the fact that I definitely want to eat more."

Emma gave a warm smile. "Yet another reason for me to be grateful to Mr. Stark: that appetite of yours keeps you coming back in here to see me."

Kim couldn't help but smile back. "So long as this appetite doesn't make me fat."

At that, she laughed. "You stop that! You're beautiful no matter what, Kim dear, and don't you ever think otherwise." She rested her elbows on the table. "So, tell me: any plans for the holidays, you lot? Are you staying here, or have you plans to visit Laura at all?"

"No," Kim answered sharply, shaking her head, "definitely not."

"Oh," Emma commented, her face falling.

Closing her eyes, Kim eased a breath through her nose, hating herself for sounding so snappish. "Sorry; I called her earlier today, and…"

"I take it the conversation didn't go so well."

She shook her head again.

Leaning forward, Emma reached out and placed her warm hand atop Kim's wrist. "I'm so sorry to hear it, dearie."

"It's fine, Emma—"

"No, it's not fine," she said firmly, causing Kim to lock eyes with her. She dropped her even voice lower, keeping the conversation confined to their table. "I realize your aunt has her problems, but she's certainly not the only one hurting after Rebecca's death. I've watched you since the day of her funeral, Kim; I can see that you're still struggling with it at times. Some days are better than others, but I do see it. If Laura had even a shred of decency about her, she'd recognize that and try find ways to comfort both of you, not just herself." She glanced at Bucky again, who looked away just as she turned her head to him. She blinked, but turned back to Kim, her blue eyes softening. "You have such a good heart, dearie, but I also know how sensitive it can be," Kim pulled in a breath when she felt two of her fingertips graze the long scar on her wrist, "and I don't want to see anyone taking advantage and trying to intentionally cause you pain."

Despite the traces of sorrow still lingering in her heart, Kim managed a smile for her. It didn't matter that she'd only know this woman for the past four years; she could sense in her gentle touch how much she cared about her, could always hear the concern in her words whenever it came to her deepest feelings. But more than that was the fathomless empathy she could clearly see in Emma's eyes, and a look of pure understanding passed between them, one that they had shared many times before.

"You're alright, love," Emma soothed, giving her wrist a reassuring squeeze, "you know you're alright."

She gave a nod, but then her smile faded. "Are you going get a chance to go home at all for the holidays?"

Smiling sadly, Emma shook her head. "No, dearie."

Kim felt her own eyes sadden in response. "Still hard?"

She pursed her lips and nodded. "I just can't face it. Not yet."

I know, she thought to herself. I know…

"But me Mum and Dad understand, and…maybe it's just better off, you know? Travel to and from Southampton is really quite pricey this time of year, especially when you're also trying to make tuition payments, and rent, and..." She paused. "Best to visit during the off-season, really."

"Yeah, but…" Kim pressed her lips together. "I just…wish you didn't have to be without your this year—"

"Here now," she reached across the table so that both her hands covered hers, "you have enough to worry about with your own life. Don't add to your stresses by worrying about me. I'll be alright; you've got yourself and your cousin here to take care of, first and foremost."

Kim glanced at Bucky, who instantly locked eyes with her, and though they were steady, she almost thought she could detect some indiscernible emotion shimmering behind them. "Hear what you're saying," she turned back to Emma, "but hard not to worry about you, too."

Her eyes shone warmly. "That's how I know you have a good heart."

That brought forth another smile from her, and then Kim sighed. "Listen, I didn't mean to open up old wounds…"

But Emma squeezed her wrist again. "Trust me: getting the chance to see you lot whenever you come in is the highlight of my day." A pink tinge rose to her cheeks as she said that, especially when she threw a brief sideways glance at Bucky, but then shifted her eyes down to their hands once more. Turning Kim's hand palm-up, she half-smiled when she saw the cartoonish bandage there. "Worked alright?"

"Yeah," Kim said, "only needed the one, but I'll keep the other one just in case," she tapped on the spare bandage still sitting on the table.

"Brilliant," she replied, running her thumb over the bandage. Then Emma threw a glance over her shoulder. "Well, I can see Gary's going to need a refill on coffee in about two minutes," her fingers slid from Kim's wrist as she began to slide out of the booth, "so I best get back to it. Thanks for letting me sit for a spell, you two."

"Anytime."

Kim's eyebrows shot up as she snapped her gaze over to Bucky, who'd unexpectedly broken his silence with his reply. His eyes briefly held Emma's before turning back to his mug, bringing it to his lips and taking a long sip of coffee.

Even Emma appeared to be at a momentary loss for words, though a hint of warmth appeared to touch her eyes again. "Umm—be needing more coffee in a few, James?"

"Please," he said, lowering his eyes as he set his mug down.

She nodded. "Right. I'll be back to check on you shortly, then."

Kim watched her as she walked away, sadness filling her heart all over again as she thought about Emma's situation. She sighed to herself. If Bucky hadn't come into her life when he did, Kim probably would have been alone for the holidays as well, and who could truly say where circumstances might have led her as she dealt with the grief of losing her grandmother?

A much darker path might have been taken…

She closed her eyes, pushing the thought aside. No, her mind whispered. No…

"What did she mean by that?"

Opening her eyes, she locked gazes with her great-uncle, whose otherwise stoic face was betrayed by the hint of curiosity she saw in those grey-blue pools.

"When she said she can't face it, and you said something about opening old wounds," he tilted his head. "What were you talking about?"

She drew in a breath and released it slowly. "Her grandpa died two years ago; it's still hard for her to go back home knowing he's not going to be there anymore."

He contemplated this. "They were close?"

"Extremely." She hesitated, but went on. "But more than that, she was one of the only people who could get through to him."

He furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

"He had PTSD; caused a lot of problems for their family."

A pause. "From his time in the army?"

She nodded. "I don't know the whole story, but I do know she was one of the only people he'd talk to about it. It sounds like he confided a lot in her."

The compassion that shone in his eyes was enough to make her heart clench, and for a long while she remained quiet, chewing her lower lip as she carefully debated her next words to him. Sighing in resignation, she finally made her decision. "There's something you should know about him, Bucky."

That got his attention, and he waited for her to go on. Casting a quick glance around to make sure their conversation would remain private, she dropped her voice low. "There's a reason why Emma cares about me so much, and cared about Grandma, too, and it has very little to do with us being regular customers here."

"What do you mean?"

Taking another careful breath, she said, "I mean that the reason she cares so much about my family—about our family…is because of you."

To say he looked stunned was a drastic understatement. "Me?"

"Yes," she rested her elbows on the table. "I told you her grandpa had served in the British army a long time ago, but what I didn't tell you was that his service took place during WWII…as part of the 107th in 1943."

Hearing this, his eyes widened ever-so-slightly. "What?"

"Your infantry," she added. "He fought in your unit alongside you and your comrades."

Those wide eyes were still staring at her, almost disbelieving, but at the same time, he was leaning forward, his metal palm pressed flat against the table. "His name…?"

"Daniel Archer. He was a first lieutenant and a skilled marksman."

He turned just enough to break his gaze from hers, and by the way his brows were knit, it was clear to her that his mind was trying to process what she'd just revealed to him. Perhaps even trying to recall the name from his past.

She licked her lips, but knew she had to go on. "Emma told me that…when your unit was captured by HYDRA, a few of you were taken into some sort of isolation, and that included you and her grandpa." He lifted his eyes to hers, so much uncertainty evident in his face. "From what she's said, you were both beaten and tortured, but ultimately chosen by Zola to be subjects he wanted to use for experimentation." There was a dark flicker in his eyes, and she sighed to herself. "Zola only got a chance to experiment on you before Steve came to save you, but Daniel would have been next on his list. Before that, you'd both been confined to the same holding cell for quite a while, and you apparently kept him from losing hope and going completely insane during that time. As far as Emma's concerned, you're responsible for saving his life."

Lowering his gaze again, Kim could see his metal fingers curl into a fist upon the table top.

"Do you remember?"

"I…" He trailed off, his nostrils flaring as he exhaled, but then the barest of whispers passed through his lips. "Danny."

Kim sat up straighter.

He released a shuddering breath. Looking at her again with shimmering eyes, his voice still rasped as he said, "We…called him Danny. He was one hell of a shot."

What she would have given to have her notebook with her right now, her fingers tingling with the compulsive need to jot all this down so she could reference it later on…

The intensity in his eyes seemed to grow as he looked at her. "Why didn't you tell me about any of this, Kim?"

Though his words were quiet, the insistent tone he'd used hardly escaped her ears. "I wasn't sure how to approach it with you," she answered patiently, "or if I should even bring it up at all."

"I wish you had."

"I get that, Bucky; I do. But Daniel Archer is Emma's relative, not mine, and she should be the one who gets to tell his story. Don't you think so, too?"

She could see the way his brows twitched together, as if her question had sparked an internal debate of his own. Then she was speaking softly to him, and he responding just as quietly. At one point, he hesitated, slight apprehension apparent in his features as he lowered his eyes to the table, his long hair forming a curtain across his face. Kim reached out, taking his metal hand in hers, hoping to bring his attention back to her, and wasn't disappointed when their gazes locked again. The uncertainty was still there—maybe it would always be there—but as she continued to reassure him, the furrowing of his brow seemed to abate, his posture finally relaxing as he released a heavy sigh and nodded shortly.

Pressing her lips together in a thin smile, Kim gave the metal fingers a squeeze. Then, glancing over at his right hand, she noticed that the small wound she'd given him earlier had nearly disappeared from sight. Nearly. Smirking to herself, Kim picked up the spare band-aid from the table.

Just to be silly…She thought, proceeding to tear the wrapper open.

Not a moment later, Emma returned with a coffee pot in her hand. "Here you are, James," she said, reaching over to top him off, "freshly brewed pot." Kim could sense her watching, even as she smoothed the bandage over the back of his hand. "He needed one, too?"

"Just a scrape," she assured her. "And look: now, we match," she grinned holding her palm next to his hand to display the twin yellow strips.

Emma giggled. "Very nice," she shook her head as she started to turn.

"Emma, wait," Kim's hand reached out to touch her arm, stopping her instantly.

"Yes?"

Giving Bucky one last look, she drew in a breath. "You'd asked me about our Christmas plans, but I never really got a chance to answer you."

Her eyebrows arched. "Oh. Right, well," she turned more fully towards her, "let's hear it, then. What've you got going on?"

She gave a small smile. "Actually, it'll just be James and me spending some quiet time at home, but we were both wondering: why don't you come over and spend Christmas Eve with us?"

Emma appeared taken aback. "W…with you?"

"Yeah. I mean, we already have a spare bedroom if you wanted to stay over, and that way, you won't have to spend the holidays alone. What do you say?"

"Oh," she breathed, her eyes filling with gratitude, but then saddening just as quickly. "Th-that's awfully sweet of you, Kim dear, but I don't think that—"

"Please, Emma," she insisted, her hand tightening on her arm just a little, "it's my house, and I'm inviting you. I know how much you miss England around the holidays, and you shouldn't have to be away from your family on Christmas, regardless of the situation. So why not celebrate it with us?"

She could see her eyes dart to Bucky, but his gaze was fixed squarely on the table. Still, she sighed reluctantly, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Kim, you're so nice to offer, but I can't impose. Really, it should be family time for to two of you—"

"What she's saying," Bucky suddenly spoke up, causing both of them to look at him, "is that you practically are family to her," that was when he finally looked up at her, "and it would mean a great deal to her if she could spend Christmas with her family."

Emma blushed, her pale cheeks going red as his grey-blue eyes held hers in silent communication. But after a while, she finally smiled, the mere act causing her entire face to light up sweetly. "If that's what you really want—"

"It is, Emma," Kim said. "I mean it."

Her lovely smile remained. "Alright then. I would be honored. Truly, I would. I do have a short shift here that earlier in the day, but we close at three."

Kim smiled broadly, feeling as though a weight had lifted from her chest. "Good; then you can come over after. Fair warning, though: holiday viewing in our household consists of the Star Wars movies. Think you'll be up for it?"

Emma gave a good-natured laugh. "Who do you think you're talking to, dearie? Of course I'd be up for that! So long as you don't mind me wearing my Wookiee hoodie when I pop over," she winked.

"The Force is definitely strong with this one," Kim grinned, causing Bucky to give her a sideways glance.

Emma giggled and shook her head, tucking back that stray tress before resting her elbow on the back of Kim's seat. "So then, Wednesday it is, yeah? What time shall I come over?"

~December 24, 2014~

"Don't fight it," Kim's steady voice was close, but seemed to be fading, "just let it happen."

Eyes squeezed shut, Bucky gripped his scalp tightly, uncertain of what the rising tide of memories would bring to him this time. Deep down, he knew his niece was right, that he had to face them as they returned, no matter how horrifying the revelations might be.

"It's okay," she said, even more distant now. "Don't fight it."

Don't fight it. Don't fight it.

His head jerked twice. A third time. Clenching his teeth together, he surrendered to the images as they burned their way through the darkness yet again…

No, not burning. Cold. He remembered the cold surrounding him; the deep, down-to-the-bone chill that pierced him like thousands of frigid knives, leaving him shivering everywhere. His fingers, his limbs, his teeth, he swore he could even feel his lungs trembling as he struggled to regain the ability to breathe on his own again.

That took some time, and gradually, he could hear himself gasping harshly for breath once his ears could register sounds again. Before he knew it, though, arms seized him, his nerves screaming in agony as he was dragged out of the cryotube and down a long corridor, forcing him along before he could even move of his own volition. And somewhere behind him, he heard words…orders echoing off the walls.

Pereyekhat'!

Bystreye!

He knew them; he knew the words without a second thought. Forcing the heavy lids of his eyes open, his surroundings flashed by rapidly, and he instinctually shied at the occasional flash of harsh light through the dimness of the corridor.

Taking me where? He wondered fearfully, his body still recovering from the trauma of cryostasis. Where are you…taking…

His fingers gripped his scalp even tighter. He remembered the incessant pain that came afterwards: electric shocks forcing his mind to forget everything it was trying to cling to; the icy voice instructing him on his next mission…and then the face—the eerily familiar face—that was burned into his mind until the task was done.

Identify target. Terminate.

Bol'she ne nado, he silently pleaded. Please, no more…

"Sergeant!"

Bucky's head shot up, his vision coming back into focus to find Kim standing in the doorway, her green eyes trained steadily on him.

Green eyes. Kim's eyes; Rebecca's eyes…

His labored breathing was beginning to subside. The memory was still there, still clinging to the edges of his mind, but she'd managed to cut through the mental chaos with the utterance of a single word. She was keeping her distance, though, her gaze intent but wary as she stared, and he completely understood her reasoning.

"Sergeant," she repeated.

My niece, he thought to himself, those eyes conveying a sense of calm to him just when he needed it most. My niece…He swallowed hard. "Soldier," he hoarsely whispered.

Her shoulders visibly relaxed when she sighed, and for that, Bucky was grateful. She'd come downstairs just as the memories were starting to emerge, and whenever that occurred, she'd force herself to stay back until the worst of it subsided. It was just safer for both of them that way.

Without a word, she came into the dining room, her eyes never leaving his as she sat in the seat adjacent to him. Unflinching eyes that conveyed one simple message to him yet again: I'm here. "What did you see?" She asked softly, just as she always did in moments like this.

He hesitated, lowering his gaze and slightly furrowing his brow as he attempted to clear his mind. "S…" he started, then tried again. "S-Siberia."

"What about Siberia?"

"It…I was kept there at some point." A pause. "Dec-cember…sixteenth, 1991."

"What happened?"

Too much, he thought. "I…there were two faces, and I…" Feeling his stomach lurch, he looked up at her. "I knew one of them."

Kim exhaled slowly, her eyes saddening. "Howard Stark."

Howard…Stark. Stark. Stark…one of the men responsible for Steve's transformation into Captain America, and one of the key strategists behind the Howling Commandos' campaign against the forces of HYDRA. Stark. The man whose son was now one of Kim's closest friends, as well as one of Steve's allies.

Stark. A friend he'd…killed…at HYDRA's orders. And the woman…he didn't even need to ask to know who she was, recalling Howard's final pleas to him.

Not my wife…not my wife…

Sergeant Barnes…

Cursing in Russian, Bucky closed his eyes and looked away, cupping his mouth with his metal hand as guilt burned hotly within his chest. He knew me, he lamented. He knew who I was…

He stiffened when her hand touched his right wrist. "It wasn't you," she said. "It never was you, Bucky. Remember that."

For some reason, he was having a harder time convincing himself of that now. "I killed him, Kim."

"HYDRA killed them," she corrected, "both of them. Not you."

He sighed heavily through his nostrils. "But I did it."

"No." Her tone was firmer this time, and he turned to meet her eyes again, those captivating green orbs seeming to pierce his very soul. But then her features softened, her fingers tightening gently on his arm. "It was never you."

The fact that she was so adamant about his innocence never ceased to amaze him, that she was willing to do whatever it took to prove to him that HYDRA was at fault for all the crimes he'd committed. Memories would continue to emerge now that he was out of HYDRA's grasp; there was no avoiding that, and though it was going to take time for him to come to grips with all that he'd done over the years…

Leaning forward, he rested his forehead against hers, closing his eyes with a sigh. Having Kim here gave him the hope he needed to move forward each day. No matter where he ended up, or what he would learn about his past, he knew she'd be right there for him, and he would always find a way to protect her. He promised himself that.

"You okay?" Kim finally asked.

Taking a deep breath, he exhaled and whispered, "Yeah."

He could feel her nod shortly. "You sure you'll be okay tonight?"

At that, he slowly opened his eyes. With Emma, his mind finished her inquiry. Would he be okay with Emma's presence in their house? He'd been uncertain when Kim initially posed the question to him two days ago, but at the same time…

He pulled back to look at her. In addition to Kim, Emma was the only other person to become somewhat of a consistent presence in his life since summer, and over time he'd slowly come to realize how much of an impact she'd quietly been having on him. There was just something comforting about her sweetness. Her laugh. Her hospitality, and the way she continuously demonstrated genuine concern for Kim's well-being. The way her voice just seemed to naturally soothe him whenever she spoke. The way she could stop his frantic thoughts with a mere glance of those kind blue eyes…

"Yeah, Kim," he answered, feeling the uncertainty in his heart gradually fade even as he said it. "I'll be alright."

It took a moment, but then he could see her eyes smiling gently at him, calming his mind even more.

Reaching out, Kim's fingertips grazed the notebook resting under his hands—which he'd forgotten was still there—and he looked down to see that his handwriting was covering at least two new pages. He blinked. It didn't even occur to him that his hand had been feverishly scrawling words as the surge of memories came to him. Paragraphs of information; one-word statements; fragmented sentences that were jumbled messes of Russian mixed with English. Anything he'd seen or heard in his memory had gone onto paper, just needing to get it out of his head. All of it.

Angling the notebook towards her, Kim's brows knit as she scanned his erratic notes carefully. Most of them she wouldn't be able to decipher, but she still liked to see what was there. In truth, he thanked God that she'd had the foresight to give him notebooks to start documenting the returning memories. Not only did it purge them from his mind, but it provided them both with more clues about his past, about the depths of which HYDRA had gone to in order to ensure their survival and growth in an unsuspecting world. Currently, he was on his fourth notebook.

"What are these words?" She pointed specifically to two sets of Russian characters. "Looks like some kind of quote."

"'Keep moving,'" Bucky translated.

She looked up at him. "An order?" He nodded. "Did you recognize the voice?"

He felt a slight quiver in his upper lip. "Karpov. Soviet general. He gave his orders; I followed."

Kim slowly nodded, looking down at the page again. "What about this?" She splayed her fingers over one of the longer paragraphs he'd written.

It was hard to say how much time passed as they sat there at the table, Kim asking her questions, and Bucky translating and elaborating on what he'd written. At one point—prompted by one of her inquiries—Bucky started sketching the corridor that had flashed through his mind. Back when he started doing this, she'd commented on how incredibly detailed his drawings were, and amazingly, they helped bring his memories into even greater focus. The places he'd been; the faces he'd seen, both allies and victims; the weapons he'd used; the wounds he'd sustained; there were now over thirty such sketches within the pages of all his notebooks. Even now, his drawing revealed every brick, every shadow, even every bolt in the metal fixtures he'd seen. When finished, Kim commented on how it looked akin to a photograph from one of her WWII books, and the two of them discussed the significance of this corridor to him.

But it wasn't long before the chime of the doorbell sounded, both of them turning their heads in the direction of the front door. At the same time, the clock in the living room had just finished sounding its fifth ring.

"Right on time," Kim said, looking back at him before pushing out her chair. "Listen, if at any point you're uncomfortable with this—"

"You'll be the first to know," he assured, keeping his eyes locked with hers.

Giving him one last smile, she stood, inclining her head towards his notebook. "Go put that away; I'll take a look at it later."

With a nod, Bucky closed the notebook and headed upstairs, leaving Kim to go and answer the door. Once in his room, he closed the door behind him and pulled his backpack out from under the bed, shoving his notebook inside with the other three. As he did, his ears detected the sound of Emma's voice greeting Kim with a very distinct "Happy Christmas!", and he picked up his head to listen to the exchange that followed between them. Though their words were muffled through the door, he heard them slip easily into conversation as they moved further into the house. Even from all the way up here, he couldn't help but focus on how soothing Emma's tone was…

He huffed a short breath through his nostrils and zipped the bag up securely, stashing his scattered collection of memories under the bed once more. Then he paused, making up his mind about something as he turned towards his nightstand and opened the top drawer.

When he did finally make his way downstairs, their conversation became clearer to his ears, and as soon as he caught sight of Emma in the entryway, he felt himself pause. Her back was turned to him while she spoke to Kim—who was hanging her jacket for her on the coat rack—and he couldn't help but notice that she was wearing her hair down for the first time. At the diner, she was required to keep her hair pulled back and off her shoulders for sanitary purposes, which he'd grown used to seeing. But now…

He continued down the stairs, and the instant his foot landed on that creaking step halfway down, they both turned to him.

"Why, James," Emma breathed, her eyes widening slightly as he descended the last few steps.

"Emma," he said in greeting, frowning when she continued to stare. "What?"

She gave a short shake of her head. "Nothing, I just…this is the first time I've ever seen you with your hair pulled back."

Clearing his throat, Bucky rubbed a hand over the back of his exposed neck, his pinkie grazing the thin hair tie at his nape. "I do it sometimes."

"You should do it more often. I can see more of your face like that."

He lifted an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

Smiling softly, she said, "Yes. It looks good. Really."

It was rare for him to blush, but hearing her say that caused a gentle heat to slowly rise to his cheeks.

"He does clean up nice when he wants to." Bucky glanced over at Kim, who was subtly smirking as she draped Emma's scarf over one of the wooden hooks. "I can take this right up for you," she said, grabbing what must have been her overnight bag from the floor.

"Well, I haven't quite decided if I'm actually going to stay over. The roads aren't supposed to be bad—"

"Even so," Kim interjected, her hand digging into her pocket, "I'll take it up just in case." She pulled out her iPhone, which had apparently been vibrating, and examined the screen with an arched brow. "Oooh, you better not be calling me with another assignment right now," she muttered in mock seriousness.

Emma laughed quietly. "Mr. Stark?"

She nodded with a grin. "Yeah. I should take this upstairs real quick," she looked between him and Emma. "You guys mind?"

"Not at all," Emma was already saying. "Take your time."

Then Kim turned to Bucky, her eyes conveying a warm sense of reassurance. "I'll try to keep it short. Keep Emma company for a sec?"

He hesitated only a moment before nodding stiffly, knowing it was always best to be in a separate room whenever Stark was calling. Especially considering the episode he'd just had a bit ago.

She brushed the back of her hand against his left sleeve. "Be down soon," she assured, ascending the stairs with Emma's bag in hand. Once she reached the top, she finally answered the call. "Hey, Tony. You said I was going to have Christmas off, remember?" A pause, then a quiet giggle. "No, as a matter of fact, company just arrived…"

He could tell when her voice became fainter that she was in the guestroom—formerly her own bedroom—closing the door behind her. He sighed quietly to himself. Turning back to Emma, he locked eyes with her immediately, and after a further pause, he saw the gentle rise of her shoulders as she took in a breath.

"Well…" she said, offering a small smile.

Well, his mind echoed, the quiet ensuing between them yet again. "Umm…" Shoving his hands into his pockets, he inclined his head to indicate the glass pan she was holding in her hands. "What's that?"

"Oh, this," she held it up a bit higher, "is my contribution to tonight's meal. Since Kim said she'd make supper, I opted to bring dessert. In fact, why don't I go ahead and bring this on in," she said, making her way towards the kitchen. "And my goodness, whatever she's made certainly smells wonderful. What is that?"

"Uhh…" It took another moment, but then Bucky gave his head a shake and followed. "Scalloped potatoes and ham," he said, coming to a stop in the middle of the doorway, not really sure if he should come in any further. It was the first time he'd ever been alone in a room with Emma. "It's a dish her grandmother used to make."

"Is that so?" She mused, placing the pan on the counter and smiling over at him. "If that's the case, then we know it'll be delicious, yeah?" She pulled back the foil cover, seeming to inspect the cake-like dessert underneath. "Always something comforting about recipes from Nan," she touched two fingers to its surface, "I'm sure that's no exception for Kim."

Without realizing it, he tilted his head. "So what is that?"

"Ah, this," she angled the pan for him to see, "is what's called sticky toffee pudding."

He furrowed his brow in confusion. "That's pudding?"

"A bread pudding, if you will," she explained. "Quite a popular dish from back home. I trust you've never had it?"

"No."

"Right. Well, here now," she picked it up and started to cross over to him, causing his muscles to instinctively tense, "let's have you judge for yourself."

Bucky's eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly as she neared, but despite his natural wariness of her proximity, something deep inside reminded him that this woman meant him no harm. She'd been nothing but kind to him, even after that first day when he grabbed her so hard that he'd bruised her wrist. As untrusting as he had to be of people in the past…he could sense no ill-will being emitted by this woman, especially not in the captivating calm of her blue eyes as she lifted the caramel-colored dessert up to him.

"See what you think," she encouraged.

Ultimately unable to resist her innocent request, he bent his head and inhaled, his eyebrows lifting at the surprisingly sweet aroma he detected. It was so appealing that he couldn't help but lean in again to smell a second time.

Emma smiled. "I'll take that as approval," she said, turning back to the counter to re-cover the dish. "There's also a caramel sauce that'll go on top, but I won't make that until after we've had supper. It tastes so much better when it's freshly made, and Kim said she'd have all the ingredients I need for it. Then you top it off with a bit of cream, and cheers: the quintessential holiday dessert of the Archer estate," she grinned. "I know you and Kim are fond of your pies at the diner, but I wanted to bring you something a little different this time. It's one of my favorite recipes around the holidays, and…" She became quiet, her smile slipping just a little as she gave a half-shrug. "I guess, having something like this just kind of reminds me of being home, you know?"

He exhaled quietly through his nose, slowly crossing his arms over his chest. While he couldn't exactly empathize, there was one word that had stuck out to him more than any other: home. No matter how different their life stories might have been, one thing he could understand was what it felt like to be someplace where he was needed; wanted. Loved unconditionally.

With family.

"Yes," he said lowly, causing her to look at him. "I know."

Emma blinked, but then slowly smiled, a simple act that drew his eyes to her lips. "Kindness. Just like Rebecca and Kim," she crossed her own arms. "Also extends to distant family, I see."

His jaw clenched, then he lifted his eyes back to hers. Her accent had made it sound like she'd said "Rebeccer and Kim" instead, which he actually found rather charming. Then his eyes happened to drift down to the gray jacket she was wearing, and he blinked at the design he saw there, something he hadn't been able to see while she was holding the dessert pan. "Hey," he pointed, "you really do have a Wookiee hoodie."

Emma laughed. "Of course I do, James! You thought I was taking the piss about something like that?" She protested playfully, placing a hand over the subtly threaded outline of Chewbacca covering the right side of her chest. "No respectable lady would ever—ever—lie about owning Star Wars apparel; especially not if it happens to be Wookiee apparel."

Something about the way she was smiling had him cocking his head once more. "No. They wouldn't."

At that, she gave a gentler laugh, and he recognized the pink tinge that was beginning to rise to her cheeks. Then her eyes shifted down a bit, settling on him in a way that caused Bucky's brows to furrow. But as soon as a knowing smile spread across Emma's lips, his uncertainty quickly dissipated, and he glanced down to see what she had become so focused on: the bright yellow bandage that was still adorning the back of his right hand. Worn, and dark around the edges from where the adhesive was rubbing off, but still there. Still staring up at him with those odd, cartoonish faces, regardless of how unnecessary it had been after the wound had completely healed.

Locking eyes with her again, Emma's smile widened as she bit down on her lower lip. After a moment, Bucky felt a tugging at the corner of his mouth as he slowly half-smiled in response. But it began to falter when he realized…that her smile caused a lone dimple to be visible on her cheek.

The exact same spot where Danny Archer had a dimple whenever he smiled—

"Oh, my gosh!"

At the sound of Kim's approaching voice, Bucky was snapped out of thought, blinking a few times as she appeared in the doorway next to him. "Emma," she said, her eyes still trained on her iPhone as she entered the kitchen, "Tony's officially one of the biggest dorks I know!"

"Oh dear," Emma grinned, "what'd he do now?"

"See for yourself," she showed her the screen.

Her eyes scanned the image, and then she was laughing again. "You do have to admit that's a good shot of Steve, though."

Bucky's ears perked at the mention of Steve's name, and Kim looked over at him, their eyes locking before she came over to him.

"You should see this, too," she said, holding out her phone to him.

He understood her intention: trying to keep things as casual as possible in front of Emma, who was unaware of his connection to Steve. Without question, he went along with it. Holding the phone steady with his left hand, he took in the image of his best friend, his heart twisting momentarily in pain, but then calming when he saw the bright smile on his face…and the red Santa hat that had obviously been digitally drawn on top of his head…and then he arched an eyebrow at the caption that read Trading in the shield for a sleigh. One night only.

Regardless of the emotions billowing beneath his chest, he allowed himself the smallest of smirks. Would never happen, he thought to himself.

Punk.

Releasing his hold her phone, Kim kept her eyes on him as she pocketed the device. "So, yeah. That and time off until after New Year's were his Christmas gifts to me."

"That was sweet of him to do," Emma commented.

"Yeah. After going through twelve of those huge-ass folders for him last week, he knew he owed me big-time," she winked.

Yes, Bucky mused. Twelve folders of encrypted HYDRA data, some of which referred to the functionality of his bionic arm, particularly after missions that required renovations and specific upgrades. Kim had devoured and recorded the information with incredible detail, and he had a feeling she planned to utilize some of the information the next time his arm needed certain repairs.

"So," she said, crossing over to the oven and cracking the door open just enough to peek in, "this needs about another twenty minutes before it's ready," she inhaled deeply. Closing the door, she straightened up and gave them both a warm smile. "What do you say, you two? How about we start up New Hope until then?"

"I hear what you're saying, but that's one theory I still can't agree with," Emma put down another card on the coffee table.

"But it makes so much more sense the longer you think about it," Kim picked up three cards, sorting through them, "not to mention it makes Vader a lot more frightening in my mind."

"I don't disagree with you there, but I'm just not convinced that Padmé and Obi-Wan had any kind of affair."

Bucky listened closely to the conversation going on between them. As their card game progressed, Kim and Emma had gotten into a lengthy discussion about certain aspects of the Star Wars films, particularly about a potential love triangle between three of the main characters in the prequels.

"She was devoted to Anakin," Emma continued, "and even though he clearly went about proving his love the wrong way, you could tell that he would have done anything for her."

"But that really didn't come across as love to me, Emma. Things were always so...stiff and awkward between them, you know?

Emma sighed, seeming to dwell on that. "I'll grant you that, but I think George Lucas had a reason for directing them the way that he did: Padmé was a queen and a senator. She's been in high roles of power ever since she was—what was it? Twelve?"

"Fourteen," Kim corrected.

"Right. She was a child when she was appointed to such powerful positions, and having to deal with that kind of responsibility can take its toll on you as you grow older. It would definitely explain why she came across as rigid and uptight in her mannerisms, and having that kind of life could have made it extremely difficult for her to find love."

Like Kim, Bucky was not as fond of the prequels as he was of the original trilogy, but even he appreciated some of the crucial background information those films provided to the overall story line. In truth, both were making some valid points about certain theories—particularly about how Anakin's years as a slave most likely impacted his need for absolute control in his life—and he found himself rather intrigued as he continued to listen.

"It might explain why she gravitated towards Anakin when he re-entered her life," Emma was still speaking. "He came back at a time when she was vulnerable in the Senate, and it was a time when she subconsciously needed him the most."

"But you could clearly see how different she was whenever Obi-Wan was around, and that's why I don't think the theory should just be dismissed. With Anakin, it felt like she was trapped in an abusive relationship. It really seemed like he was obsessed. Not just obsessed with power, but also with exerting that power over her to the point of making her too afraid to do push back against him—"

It's not that, Bucky hissed to himself, clenching his teeth together. As much as he valued Kim's opinion, he couldn't completely agree with the statement she'd made. That's not exactly what it was, he thought. There's more to it than that.

But then he frowned when the room around him became quiet, and he looked up to see two pairs of inquisitive eyes—one green, one blue—staring at him. He blinked. Apparently, he'd uttered the thought aloud, not to himself as he'd believed. He saw Kim tilt her head as she looked at him, curiosity evident in her features.

But it was Emma who spoke up. "Go on, James," she said, prompting him to turn to her. "Something you wanted to say?"

The encouragement conveyed in her eyes caused him to pull a deep breath into his lungs, which he released slowly as he continued to hold her gaze. "Not…obsession," he said quietly, looking over at Kim. "It may have come across that way, but…I think there's more to it than that."

This time, it was Kim who blinked, and she leaned forward to rest her elbows on the table.

He had her full attention, and knowing this, he took another calming breath. "His need for control isn't rooted simply in a desire for power. It's fear. Fear of losing everything that brings peace to his heart and mind, and that all started with the loss of his mother. She was the one person who was central to his life, and the first to ever show him love. That right there is what makes the women in his life so important to him. And then to lose her when he attempts to save her…it's understandable why it had such a profound impact on him, and why he had an obsessive desire to save Padmé from a similar fate." He paused, his eyes flicked over to Emma, then back to Kim. "He feared losing her, too. That's what drove him to embrace a darker power: the idea that he could somehow protect the woman he loves—the only other woman in his life—from suffering a similar fate."

Again, there was silence, but it wasn't at all uncomfortable. He saw Kim's shoulders rise and fall as she sighed, a contemplative look on her face.

"Well, James," Emma said, and he glanced over at her just as she gave a serene smile, "I think it's safe to say you've done well to humanize Darth Vader a bit more for both of us."

Seeing her smile made that lone dimple show, and he felt something tighten inside his chest.

Kim, however, snorted softly. "Take Obi-Wan over Ani any day…"

Emma gave a laugh. "Would you just play a damn card already?"

Bucky saw Kim grin as she kept going through the cards in her hands. They'd been playing Rummy ever since finishing dinner, the three of them now seated in the living room while The Empire Strikes Backplayed on in the background. Bucky couldn't recall if he'd ever played Rummy in his life, but according to Kim, she and Rebecca had been avid players of the game since she was a child. As such, she'd been a patient coach with him over the months, and he ended up enjoying the game much more than he'd anticipated.

However, based on the amount of cards Kim was currently disposing of, it was apparent that her streak of luck this evening was far from running out. "Ha! Playing this one off your queen, and I'm out!" She announced, throwing down her last card.

"Oh, blast, I nearly had it this time," Emma groaned, playfully pounding her fist upon the coffee table. "That's four hands in a row for you. I'm starting to think that having Star Wars on in the background is giving you a bit of an unfair advantage, dearie."

"Hey, never underestimate the power of the Force, Miss Archer, especially with a nerd like me," Kim grinned, "now count up."

Emma shook her head, but was smiling the whole time as she counted out the value of her remaining cards.

As she did, Bucky chanced another sideways glance at her, noting once again how different she really did appear with her hair down like this. The dark-blonde waves cascaded freely around her shoulders, softly framing her face and accenting those striking blue eyes even more than usual. In truth, it made her appear younger somehow, a thought that had him intrigued even as she lifted a hand to brush a tress away from her face—

"And you, Sergeant?"

Bucky looked back over at Kim, who was holding a pen and a Steno pad in her hands. Most of the time, she would opt to call him "Sergeant" instead of James in Emma's presence, and apparently, it was his turn to report. Glancing down at his cards, he sorted through them, quickly doing the math in his head. "Twenty-five," he said, discarding his hand.

Jotting down the number, Kim took a few seconds to tally up the current score, and her face split into a wide grin. "That puts me up to 254; game is mine!"

Smiling, Emma leaned back against the couch. "Well, I'm quite useless at this game tonight."

"Hey, I haven't had a chance to play with three people in a long time, and that was a blast." Then she arched an eyebrow as she glanced back and forth between them. "Okay, you two: hand 'em over."

With mock reluctance, Bucky and Emma both picked up their dessert plates—each of which still had one last bite of toffee pudding on them—and passed them across the table to Kim. With a triumphant look on her face, Kim proceeded to devour the remaining morsels right in front of them.

"You look like you're enjoying that far too much," Emma grinned.

"Spoils of war," Bucky mumbled under his breath.

"Right," Emma agreed, "and I know you're loving every minute of it, Kim dear."

She swallowed her last mouthful. "I deny nothing." Then she heaved a great sigh as she placed a hand over her belly. "But I can tell that I'm going to have to make up for it by doing a few extra long runs, so you get the last laugh," she set her plate down. "Man, that stuff is good, but really rich."

Emma giggled, reaching for her glass of water. "It is quite dense, which is why I can only ever manage one serving of it." Then she looked at Bucky. "Actually, I'm quite impressed by James here: you're the only person I know who's ever taken three helpings of Nan's pudding in one sitting, on top of a full supper, no less," she sipped her water. "Not even Granddad had an appetite like yours, and he's the only other soldier I knew."

"Yeah, I've officially found a relative who might secretly be a Hobbit," Kim jested, making Emma giggle again. "Seriously, curse you and your metabolism; wish I could eat like that and have no regrets."

Bucky lifted an eyebrow, feeling a slight challenge rise within him. "Kim, you would have smeared a big gob of Nutella on your dessert if you thought no one was looking." Indeed, living under the same roof had allowed him to pick up on certain habits, and he often saw her dipping into that chocolaty spread at most of their meals. His niece obviously had quite the sweet-tooth.

Seeing the way Kim's eyes narrowed at him had his lips twitching into a slight smirk, but it was hearing Emma's laughter beside him that lightened his heart even more.

Though she was still feigning annoyance with him, it wasn't long before Kim herself was smirking in response. "Touché…jerk."

He smiled, albeit briefly.

"Crikey, is it really ten-thirty already?" Emma asked, glancing at her watch. "Where in the world did time go? Suppose we should get back to watching the movie, then, yeah?"

He flicked his eyes over to the television screen, which now showed Luke Skywalker about to crash-land on Dagobah. Bucky liked this part; that little green Yoda amused him.

"Actually," Kim said, "I think now might be a good time."

He angled his head toward her, knowing exactly what she was referring to.

"For what?" Emma asked.

She stacked the empty plates off to the side of the table. "James already knows about this, but Grandma and I used to have a tradition on Christmas Eve where we'd each open one of our presents to each other. She started doing it with Scotty and me when we were really young."

Emma smiled. "I think that's lovely, Kim."

"Thanks." She glanced over at him. "And just so you know, we wanted to include you in that tradition this year, so we got a gift for you, too."

Bucky could see her lips part on an intake of breath—which he found himself transfixed by—and her voice was so soft when she asked, "You did?"

"Of course," she smiled. It was true: since Kim now had access to part of his pension, she was able to provide him with funds for his own private use. As such, he and Kim had agreed to pick out something especially for Emma, and both of them were able to contribute towards it financially.

A slow smile spread across Emma's features, and as inconspicuously as possible, Bucky shifted his gaze, mutely scanning the lines of her profile. "You dears," her blue eyes darted to him, then back to Kim, "both of you. I don't even know what to say."

"You've done a lot to accommodate us over the last few months," Bucky added, quietly but adamantly.

"That's right," Kim said, "and we want to make sure you know how much that's meant to us. More than that, though," she reached out to place a hand on her arm, "when he said you're like family to me, that was true, and I want you to know that, Emma. We both do."

Emma smiled brightly, and in the low light of the room, Bucky thought he detected the barest shimmer of tears in her eyes. "Well, um—" she ducked her eyes, "that's lovely…because I've got some presents for you lot as well."

Bucky lifted his brows at that. "You do?"

"I do," she pushed herself up from the floor. "Mind you, it's not much, but I really wanted to…" She trailed off as she looked at him, and for the second time that evening, he could see the flush that was rising to her cheeks. "Uh—" she gave her head a shake, smiling nervously. "Right, well. They're in my bag, so I'll just run up and grab them." Stepping around the table, she headed for the staircase, and Bucky's eyes followed her until she disappeared through the doorway. He continued to look in that direction even after she'd gone.

"Bucky."

He snapped his head around to Kim, who, with a gesture of her head, beckoned him over to their Christmas tree on the far side of the room. The modest green pine he'd practically uprooted with his bionic arm—much to the awe of his niece—surrounded by a few brightly wrapped presents. Seeing it now, though, decorated with its antique frosted bulbs and string of simple white lights…something about it caused him to take pause. To study it. Feel a familiar, pleasant warmth blossoming beneath his chest the longer he looked at it. Such a sense of nostalgia filling his heart and mind as a few splintered memories surfaced yet again, reminding him of the past when he celebrated this holiday with family; his friends. Their Christmas tree. A symbol to remind him what it really felt like to be…

Home. Here, he was home. Where he belonged. With Kim. With his family. There was no challenging that thought in his heart.

Part of him wondered if Emma might have felt the same way…

When Emma did reappear with two neatly trimmed packages in her arms, they were seated on the floor by the tree. Bucky rested against the back of Kim's green chair, and Emma's eyes briefly caught his before she looked over at Kim. "Right, so, how shall we do this?" She asked, kneeling down beside her.

"We take turns," Kim said, "but since you're our guest tonight, how about you pick who goes first?"

Emma smiled. "You sure you want me to?"

"Absolutely."

"Then I think it's only fitting that our generous hostess should be the first to open a gift tonight," she held out a festive bag to Kim. "Here. This one's for you, Kim dear."

Bucky watched as Kim accepted the bag and proceeded to pull out a wad of tissue paper, and after peering inside, she threw back her head and laughed. "I should have guessed," she said, pulling out the largest jar of Nutella he'd ever seen. He could hardly keep himself from smirking. "Sweet nectar of life, you are mine," Kim jested, stroking the jar lovingly.

Emma gave a laugh of her own. "I keep telling Dave we ought to start stocking that at the diner."

"Why won't he?"

"Cost factor. A bit too pricey to offer as a regular spread along with the jellies."

"Ahhh, spoil my fun, the dingus," she grinned down at the container in her hands. "At least I have you to console me..."

"Hey now," Emma laughed again, "there's more in there."

Picking the bag up again, Kim brows knit when she glanced inside, but soon enough, her face lit up in recognition.

"Oh!" She pulled out the small plastic baggie and held it up for closer inspection. Inside, he could sees two black circles that looked very much to be made of rubber. "Are these—"

"Silencers for your dog-tags," Emma confirmed. "I thought you could use a pair."

Bucky lifted his brows at that, and Kim, who was beaming, reached up to pull forth the chain that was hidden beneath the neck of her sweatshirt. She was never without them now, and seeing her once again cradle the metal tags in her palm with such care made his heart clench in sweet pain. "I definitely can," she said, opening the baggie to take the silencers out.

"Glad to hear it," she said as Kim reached up to undo the chain. "I figured they might be convenient during your runs so you're not jingling all about."

As he listened, Bucky smiled inwardly. Emma might not have viewed her gesture as one of any importance, but the soldier within him deeply appreciated what she had done. Not only was it a way to help preserve the quality of his dog-tags, but he also saw it as another safeguard for Kim. Stifling some of the sound would make her less obvious to those around her, thus making her less obvious to potential enemies that might intend her harm. For him, there'd never be an unlikelihood of the situation occurring; there'd always be at least some possibility.

He watched her detach the tags and stretch the silencers around their edges, which quickly took on the rectangular shape of the metal pieces. Holding them in her hand, she traced two fingers over the lettering, something she often did when she thought he wasn't looking.

Lifting her eyes to Emma, she beamed. "Thank you."

Emma bit her lip as she smiled.

Deftly re-stringing the tags on the chain, Kim said, "Okay, my pick now." There was a noticeable difference in the way the metal pieces sounded when they settled against her chest. "Sergeant," she reached for a small gift under the tree and scooted closer to him, "you're next."

Her present to him; her first Christmas present to him. Smiling gently, Bucky accepted the gift she'd wrapped in shimmering silver paper—far more appealing than his own wrap job—and proceeded to tear it open. Once he'd uncovered it, he immediately felt his heart expand.

"Oh, that's beautiful," Emma breathed.

Indeed, it was. In his hands was the dark, soft cover of a brand new leather-bound journal, almost an exact replica of the one that had been on display at the Smithsonian. Right down to the initials JBB etched into the upper-right hand corner.

God, Kim…

"Thought you could use a place to write down some of your brighter thoughts, you know?" She told him. "Save the other notebooks for your bad memories."

The warmth in his chest intensified, his thumb rubbing over the surface of the textured initials. It was much more than that. So much more. This was not only her way of giving a part of his past back to him, but she was also presenting him with a way to start mapping the course of his future. A future that he once feared might be unattainable…until she'd unexpectedly come into his life and gave him reason to hope.

"Sergeant?"

Reaching out, Bucky wrapped his right hand behind her head, pulling her close so he could rest his forehead against hers. He only hoped that his gesture would convey the depths of gratitude he felt in his heart. "Thank you, Kim," he whispered.

He heard her gentle sigh, could feel her hand cover his wrist.

"That's really lovely, Kim," he heard Emma say, "the whole idea behind it, I mean."

Yes, he thought. It is. Pulling back, he saw that Kim's green eyes were shining at him, and he gave her another smile. Looking down at the journal again, he brushed his thumb over the engraved letters.

"Your turn," Kim said, and he knew it was directed at him.

Without a second thought, he reached behind him to select the gift he'd wrapped for her, handing it to Kim with a quiet sense of anticipation. He'd thought about apologizing for the poor wrapping job, but dismissed the idea as Kim went ahead and tore open the paper open, a mixture of eagerness and curiosity already on her face. He kept his eyes fixed on her, wondering what her reaction would be once she saw what he had—

Any trace of Kim's smile soon disappeared. Pulling the last of the paper away, she gazed down at the silver-framed picture he'd given her: a pencil sketch of Rebecca Barnes—long before she became a Proctor—drawn by his own hand. A portrait he'd painstakingly worked on for nearly a week in order to get the shading of her features just right. Even after all the years HYDRA had spent reprogramming his mind, he realized that the image of Rebecca had never been completely eradicated. He remembered his little sister's face as clearly as the last day he'd seen her back in 1942. The way her brown hair curled at the tips; the small scar just above her eyebrow where she bumped her head on the corner of a kitchen cabinet; the soft lines in her cheeks whenever she smiled…he remembered everything, and he'd been planning to present this capture of her to Kim for quite some time.

But the longer she went on without speaking, the more worry gnawed at his stomach, and he finally had to clear his throat. "It's your grandmother," he told her, "from when she was thirteen-years-old—"

She slowly lifted a hand, silencing him. "I know," her voice was barely a whisper as she cradled the frame in her hands. "I…" Her lips still moved, but no further sound came out.

His brow furrowed uncertainly, especially when he saw the undeniable sadness overtaking her features. "Kim?"

A shuddering breath passed her lips, and then she was pushing herself to her feet.

"Kim?" He repeated, standing as she walked away.

"Kim, are you…?" Emma started, also rising.

But she didn't stop for either of them, and Bucky followed as she crossed the room to the China cabinet on the far side, where several family photos were displayed on the shelves. Some of her grandfather's favorites, she'd once told him, and he knew exactly which one she was staring at. He came to a halt just behind her, aware that her gaze was fixed on the black-and-white image of Rebecca and a childhood friend attending an ice cream social. A photograph that he knew had been taken of her when she was thirteen, and one that looked nearly identical to the likeness he'd drawn for her. Looking down at Kim, he waited for her to say something. Anything.

Yet she remained silent, even as she stepped forward to place the picture on the shelf next to Rebecca's photograph. Stepping back, he saw Kim wrap her arms around herself, still staring straight ahead at the side-by-side images of her grandmother as she exhaled slowly through her nose. That knot of uncertainty tightened in his stomach, and he suddenly wondered if he'd made a mistake in giving this to her now. He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Kim."

He could see her chin start to quiver a bit.

He swallowed. "I can tell how much you've missed her lately, and I just…wanted to…"

He never got the chance to finish. Kim closed her eyes and began weeping silently, practically drooping before him as Bucky instinctively pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. He didn't squeeze too hard; he'd determined the proper amount of pressure needed to embrace her, and she automatically pressed her face against his right shoulder.

"At ease, soldier," he whispered, his hold tightening slightly when her heard her sniff. "Shhh. Vol'no. Vse v poryadke."

She sucked in a breath, and the force of her sobs gradually intensified. Resting his chin upon her head, he felt the premature sting of tears behind his own eyes. It broke his heart to hear her cry like this. Ever since Rebecca's death, Bucky had been aware of subtle clues that made her pain more evident than she was willing to admit out loud. It was in the silent way she gazed longingly at old photographs; and in the slight slouch of her shoulders when they discussed her grandmother at length; the way she would spend half of her Sundays confined to her bedroom, listening to music; and the tear-filled conversations he overheard her having with Steve at times. Despair, anger, and sorrow still haunted her, but she'd forced herself to move on with her day-to-day life. Just as she'd no doubt done after the deaths of Scotty and her parents. But Bucky knew that avoiding it would only be a temporary relief, and the looming realization that this would be her first Christmas without her grandmother had obviously been taking a quiet toll on her. Now those pent-up emotions were being released into the dark fabric of his sweater.

A brief intake of breath had him looking over at Emma, who was keeping her distance as she watched the two of them with concerned eyes. After a moment, she uncrossed one arm and appeared to reach out towards Kim, as if wanting to offer some sort of comfort, which had him cocking his head at the barest angle. But she seemed hesitate, biting down on her lip in a way that had him unexpectedly focusing on her mouth. Then with a sigh, she drew back, bringing her hand to her chest as she lifted her eyes to his. Bucky didn't speak, but deep down, he appreciated what those blue pools were silently trying to convey.

Kim choked on another harsh sob, snapping Bucky out of thought and bringing his attention back to her. He cupped her cheek with his metal hand, and she pulled back just enough to let him wipe her tears away with his thumb. She wasn't looking up at him, though, and something about that told him she didn't want to be seen crying. Not by Emma; not in this moment.

"Davay, soldat," he said, slipping an arm under her knees and lifting her from the floor. Normally, Kim would have objected to this, preferring to walk on her own two feet instead of being treated like an invalid, but she wasn't arguing with him on it this time. As soon as she laid her head against his shoulder, he proceeded to carry her through the living room.

"Is there anything I can do?" Emma asked as they passed by.

"No," he said a little more brusquely than he meant to, and instantly regretted his tone. Pausing, he angled his head back just enough to add, "I've got her," before making his way towards the staircase.

Aside from her sniffles, Kim remained quiet in his arms the entire way to her bedroom—what used to be Rebecca's bedroom until late in the summer. Following her grandmother's death, Kim had made the decision to switch rooms, and Bucky understood why: there had been a lot of memories made with all the time she'd spent nursing Rebecca during her illness, and residing in here no doubt helped her feel connected to her.

Laying her atop her purple comforter, he flicked on her bedside lamp to the lowest setting, then crossed to the opposite side of the room to retrieve Gregory, her antique teddy bear, from the chair in the far corner. Returning to her bedside, he knelt and held him out to her, and though he could still see sadness in her eyes, he also detected the faintest glimmer of gratitude as she reached out to accept the bear from him. Clutching him to her chest, she curled up onto her side and released a sigh, burying her face against his head. Almost child-like, he thought to himself, tilting his head.

Bucky remained by her side, letting his elbows rest on the edge of the bed. From what she'd told him, her grandparents had given her Gregory when she was a child, and it was obvious why this toy in particular was so special to her. Rebecca had fashioned him a tiny military uniform, complete with gold button medals, a peaked hat, and even detailed felt patches adorning the little green jacket. A soldier to call her very own, and one that provided her with comfort in times of sorrow. He'd seen the bear in several of her photographs while looking through Rebecca's photo albums. Apparently, her grandmother had been under the impression that Kim would want to call the bear Bucky, but instead she'd chosen Gregory.

He just looked like a Gregory to me, she'd explained, and at the time, he'd smiled inwardly. It suited him.

Lightly stroking her forehead with his right hand, Bucky kept silent vigil at her side, his eyes searching hers in the dim light of the room, occasionally wiping away a fresh tear as it fell. She just needed the quiet; needed a chance to give in to the grief that had been building upon itself for months, and he would make sure she took that time for herself. For all that she'd done for Rebecca, and for him, it was a promise he was more than willing to keep.

She brushed away another tear from her damp cheek. Though she was beginning to show signs of fatigue, he also recognized the apologetic look that she was trying to convey to him.

No, Kim, he thought to himself, his fingertips grazing her hairline. There's no need for that. You are strong, soldier. You're just like Rebecca; you are so strong, and I'm so proud of you…

He heard her sigh heavily, seeming to relax more against her pillow. Bucky remained by her side, his hand still trailing lightly across her forehead. You are strong, his mind repeated. So proud to call you family…

"Love you," her faint voice reached his ears.

Feeling his heart expand, he leaned forward to rest his forehead against hers. "Love you, too."

A little while later, Kim had drifted off to sleep, Gregory still clutched in her arms as Bucky drew the comforter to her shoulders. He lingered by her side a moment longer, watching her sleep. It was odd how peaceful she appeared after such an emotional display, but at the same time, seeing her serene features helped to ease some of the worries in his mind.

When he was certain she wouldn't wake, he quietly left her room, leaving the door only slightly ajar as he stepped out into the hall. As he came down the stairs, he realized Emma was nowhere in sight, but then he snapped his head to the left when he heard a scuffing sound from somewhere nearby, followed by the pouring of liquid. Furrowing his brow, Bucky descended the last few steps, rounding the staircase at the bottom and making his way towards the kitchen.

Sure enough, he found the source of sound when he spotted Emma through the doorway, and upon seeing her, he slowly came to a halt. He wasn't sure why, but something about seeing her standing there, slowly stirring something into her mug of—

Tea, his mind automatically whispered. He knew she preferred tea as opposed to coffee.

Tilting his head, he continued to watch her silently, hearing the soft tinkering of her spoon against the porcelain sides before she wiped it along the rim. Such small observations, and yet he remained transfixed by the careful movements of her hands. It wasn't until she lifted the mug to her lips and blew gently that he sighed to himself, feeling guilty for essentially spying on her. Taking a step forward, he audibly cleared his throat.

Before her lips had touched the mug, Emma looked up at him. "How is she, James?"

He blinked, appreciating that her immediate concern was for Kim's well-being before anything else. Not to mention how pleasant it was to hear the inflections of her accent as she spoke his name… "She's okay," he said, crossing his arms as he leaned a shoulder against the doorframe. "Just needs rest."

"Of course," Emma nodded, sighing softly. "Poor thing."

"She's a tough kid."

"I know," she leaned back against the counter, cradling her mug in her hands, "but at the same time, I also know what a soft heart she has, and there's always going to be a part of me that worries about her. You know?"

For a moment he became quiet. "Yeah."

"Yeah," she repeated so softly, her eyes still locked with his. Then she glanced down at her mug.

"Umm…I wasn't sure if she'd be back down, but I made a pot of tea just in case she'd want some." A pause. "I know you're a more of coffee drinker," she indicated the stove beside her, "but would you care for some?"

He arched an eyebrow at the question. "What kind?"

"Earl Grey."

Earl Grey. Yes, that was a flavor he remembered seeing among Kim's collection of stacked tea boxes in the pantry. Rather spicy aroma, just as he could smell now. She usually liked drinking that tea at breakfast, but to this day, he had yet to try it for himself. Soon enough, though, he uncrossed his arms and heard himself reply, "Sure."

Very faintly, Emma smiled, but he could see it touch her eyes as she set her mug down. "Alright," she turned to reach for another mug in the cupboard behind her.

He hesitated, but then stepped further into the kitchen as she poured the steaming tea for him. Something about watching that simple act, about her quiet nature in this moment…it had him intrigued. Had him paying closer attention to her.

"I do milk and sugar in mine, but since you take your coffee black, might be best to drink this plain. The pure flavor might agree with you more," she mentioned, turning to hold the mug out to him. "Here."

He looked at her, then closed the distance just enough to accept it from her with his metal hand. "Thanks."

He could see her eyes flick to his hand, but then back up to him. "Certainly." She picked up her own mug again, blowing away the traces of steam just before she drank.

Bucky inhaled the familiar scent emanating from the liquid in his own mug, then took an experimental sip, lifting his eyebrows briefly. He was used to one rich flavor when he drank his coffee, but he seemed to detect at least three—if not more—very distinct flavors occurring simultaneously in just that one swallow. Interesting. Different, but interesting. "That's…not bad," he offered.

"It's an excellent go-to, and another reminder of home for me," she said, relaxing back against the counter once more. "By the way, I haven't had a chance to say this to you yet, but I wanted to thank you and Kim for the hospitality you've given me this evening."

He paused, then lowered his mug as he swallowed more tea. "It's nothing to thank me for, Emma—"

"I beg to differ," she countered instantly, causing his ears to perk up. "You live here, too, after all, and I appreciate that you were both willing to open your home to me at this time of year." She smiled to herself. "On top of that, Kim's known me a great deal longer than you, and it touches me that someone who barely knows me would be willing to spend time with—"

"Emma Jade Archer," he cut in, and he didn't miss the abrupt pause in Emma's speech, "twenty-eight-years-old; born July sixth in Southampton, England, a former resident of Chandler's Ford parish; self-proclaimed arachnophobe; your favorite color is blue, and favorite food is palak paneer with Naan and tea; you consider your cousin, Jemma, to be your best friend; part-time employee at The Box Car for the past six years; English major and teaching assistant at Frederick Community College, with a concentration on literature of the World War II era; descendant of Lieutenant Daniel Archer, who served as inspiration for your field of study." He could have added more, but judging by the way she was gaping at him, he'd probably said more than enough. It was still a habit for him to memorize as many details about others as possible, and Emma had been no exception to this.

That pink tinge had risen to her cheeks again. "Blimey, James," she breathed, "how do you…"

"I've listened," he said quietly, "just…picked up on things whenever I've…heard you talking to Kim." Not a lie, though he wasn't sure how she might perceive what could be considered an intrusion on his part.

But then she was shaking her head, one corner of her mouth lifting in a half-smile. "Amazing. You already know all that about me, and I don't even your last name."

His stomach jerked as he thought fast. "Owens," he said, keeping his face as stoic as possible.

"Guess I should have figured that: Kim did say you were from her mum's side." She took another sip of her tea. "So. James Owens."

He gave a short nod.

She smiled softly. "That can be a start."

The warmth he saw in her eyes had him pulling in a discreet breath. They were so blue…

"Well then, Mr. Owens," she turned to pick up something from the counter behind her, "consider this my way of saying thank you for having me be a part of tonight's festivities." In her hand was the second gift-wrapped package that she'd brought down earlier, which she now held out to him. "Happy Christmas, soldier."

He stared at the gift, not entirely sure if he should approach, but then another glance up at her had him seeing the encouragement she was silently conveying in her blue gaze, and he could feel his apprehensions starting to subside. Releasing a quiet sigh, he closed the distance between them, setting his mug on the counter before accepting the package from her. He scanned it over quickly before giving in at last to his curiosity, tearing open the silver paper to reveal the brand new book he now held in his hands. A book titled Give 'Em Hell: A Howling Commando's Account of the Eradication of HYDRA, by Timothy A.C. Dugan.

It was as though he felt his stomach sinking to the floor. Timothy A.C. Dugan. Dugan, his mind whispered, feeling his nostrils flare as he exhaled. Dugan. He knew that name.

"I convinced Professor Matheson to add that one to his syllabus three semesters ago," Emma mentioned, "and it's been a big hit in his class ever since. The fact that it's written in journal-format seems to resonate rather well with his students."

Dugan, he kept repeating to himself. Dugan… Dugan…and then it clicked, his pulse beginning to race at the recognition. Yes; he knew that name from long ago. Dum Dum Dugan. One of…his fellow Commandos. And one of the only people he knew who could find a reason to smile during an onslaught of gunfire, he thought, almost giving the faintest of smirks.

Let's give 'em hell from us, gentlemen!

Any and every time, Dugan...

"I know it's not much, but I figured that as someone who's been in the army yourself, you might appreciate the content."

He lifted his eyes to her, the feeling of gratitude intensifying. "Thank you," he whispered breathlessly.

"You're welcome," she smiled, and sure enough, that dimple showed again. "I'm not sure how much Kim's conveyed to you about her side of the family, but she's talked to you about who her great-uncle was, right?"

"Barnes," he breathed, still keeping careful control of his features. "James…Buchanan Barnes."

"Right. Dugan mentions him several times in there," she inclined her head toward the book, "and there are some incredible stories about him that you really ought to read. I thought you should know more about the legacy that exists in your extended family." She paused, her smile fading as she held her mug closer to her chest.

Sensing the slight shift in her demeanor, he felt himself start to frown. "What is it?"

She gave a quiet sigh. "Kim's told me a bit about your time over in Iraq; about how you were forced to carry out orders you didn't necessarily agree with."

A wave of shame billowed through his chest, but his heart clung to what Kim repeatedly said to him every time his feelings of guilt emerged. It was never you…

"I suppose," Emma went on, "that part of why I wanted you to have this is so you can see that even heroes like the Commandos weren't without their faults. From the sounds of it, even they had some shady moments of their own during the war, something Dugan was quite candid about in his writing."

He looked down, his fingers tightening on the book. I remember, he thought to himself, almost disbelieving the notion, but at the same time…I do remember. Though the images were foggy in his mind, he recalled instances when they'd all been together, moments when they'd debated about the best way to handle questionable situations. I do remember…

"You were given orders, James," Emma told him, "and you might have faced serious consequences had you not followed through on them."

He hesitated, pressing his lips together in a thin line. Then, "But...what then…" he lifted his gaze to hers, "is your perception…of someone who's done the things I've done?"

Her eyes shimmered sadly as she looked at him. "That people make mistakes, James, and that's all tied in with being human. And the fact that you still regret your actions to this day…" That faint smile of hers finally returned. "Well, that certainly speaks volumes. My perception is that you're a far better man than you give yourself credit for." Before he knew what was happening, she reached out to place a hand on his left arm, and though the bionic appendage was concealed by his sleeve, her touch caused him to automatically stiffen. "Especially when I see you with Kim."

He felt his breaths quicken, but his eyes never left hers. It wasn't just the unexpected contact that had him mesmerized, but also the words she'd spoken to him. The validation that she—a woman who'd only known him since the summer—had offered him in just a few sentences.

Her eyes remained locked with his, and then her hand was sliding from his arm as she began to walk away, heading for the doorway that led to the living room. There was no hurry in her step; she just went, and Bucky watched her go. He waited just a moment longer before he, too, followed, setting his book on the dining room table along the way.

As he crossed into the living room, he saw Emma standing quietly at the China cabinet, still holding her mug as she gazed at the photographs on the lower shelf. For the second time that night, he felt himself pause, unable to ignore the way the lights from the Christmas tree softly illuminated her profile, highlighting the gentle curves of her face in a way he hadn't seen before…Blinking once, he walked further into the room, not bothering to conceal his steps.

Emma didn't look at him, but the angle of his head told him she was listening as he neared. "You know, I keep looking at this portrait of Rebecca, and…you actually drew it?"

"Yes."

She appeared to smile sadly. "I hope you'll forgive me, James."

He came to an abrupt halt. "For what?"

"For having such doubts about you at first," she lowered her eyes to her mug. "For wondering if your involvement in Kim's life would cause more harm than good. She's already been through so much, and I didn't want to see her heart broken all over again." She sighed, lifting her eyes to the picture once more. "But then I think about how much happier she's been ever since you came here that first day; and then you go and do something like this for her," she reached out to touch the edge of the frame, "and it makes me realize how much she really does mean to you."

"Yes," he repeated, keeping his eyes on her.

She subtly shook her head. "It's absolutely beautiful, James. At first glance, I could have sworn it was an actual photograph, and it's no wonder Kim had the reaction to it that she did." That was when she finally turned to look at him. "You really have a talent here, you know that?"

Something about seeing her like this—about seeing the way the faint light shone upon her features—had Bucky drawing in a breath. He couldn't deny that her sweet face had held him quietly captivated ever since the first day he'd met her, but it was so different to see how this light emphasized the gentle curves of her cheeks; and the milky smoothness of her skin; the soft lines around her delicate lips when she smiled, which he still caught himself staring at every so often. And he still couldn't get over how much younger she truly appeared with her hair down like that, accentuating a beauty that to him seemed so…effortless. So natural. A femininity that not even her jeans and loose-fitting hoodie could disguise. And he could only imagine how silky that hair might feel if he tucked back that errant blonde tress with his own hand…

"This was clearly done from the heart," her voice pulled him out of his reverie, "and I just want you to know that I think you're very good with her. Considering the hard time she's had as of late, God only knows she's needed to have someone like you in her life."

"I needed her," he nearly whispered, almost feeling his throat close on the last word. I needed her, he repeated to himself. I didn't know that I would need her, but now I know I can't live without her…

"I know," she said just as quietly. "I never knew Kim's parents, but I do know how terribly she misses them to this day. Thank goodness Rebecca intervened when she did; that woman all but saved her life by becoming her mother and father these past four years. But then for that cancer to take it away from her again…" She sighed, wrapping one arm around herself. "It's no bloody wonder she's still hurting the way she is."

"Something you would know a lot about," he said without hesitation.

For a moment, Emma was silent, but then he detected the slight fall of her shoulders as she exhaled. "How much did Kim tell you?"

"Enough to know that you were very close to your grandfather," he told her. "That you lost him a couple years ago, and it makes going home very difficult for you." A pause. "That Danny was part of the 107th infantry and a prisoner of HYDRA in 1943, and you…cherish Kim's family because you…credit Sergeant Barnes with helping to save his life."

He could see the brief twitch of her brow before she turned back to him, a wistfulness shining through the sorrow of her eyes. "Only Nan ever called him Danny," she almost whispered.

He pressed his lips together in a thin line. Careful, he warned himself. "I didn't mean any disrespect..."

But she shook her head. "No no, it's alright. I just…" She gave a small smile. "It's nice to hear."

Seeing the dimple on her cheek had his stomach jumping, but not unpleasantly. "Can you tell me about him? About your grandfather?" Her smile slowly started to fade, but his eyes never left hers. "I'd like to hear more about him. From you, Emma."

The way she slowly lowered her gaze had a familiar heat flaring within his chest, but he clenched his hands into fists to temper the sensation, waiting for her to reply.

Once again, he heard her sigh softly. "Granddad had his faults," she said, moving towards Kim's green chair, "but he was a good man. I'll always remember that about him." She sat back on one of the large armchairs, her eyes still trained on her mug. "We knew how much he loved his family, and he would do anything to protect the lot of us."

A feeling he knew all too well. "His faults," he echoed, hoping for more.

"Nothing we ever blamed him for; it was just hard for him to be open about certain things."

"The war?"

She gave a nod. "I take it Kim mentioned his PTSD?"

"Yes."

"Yes…" she bit down on her lip. "I know his time in captivity never left his mind. So many vets out there won't talk about their experiences with war, and he was certainly no exception to the rule."

"But he would talk to you; he trusted you."

"Perhaps." For some reason, she almost sounded guilty telling him that, a thought which had him cocking his head slightly. "He wouldn't even confide in Nan. Just shut down whenever he had a spell, but…for some reason, he'd always talk to me if we were ever alone. Sit there in the chair of his study, staring out the window as he went on."

Just like Kim would only talk to my picture about Scotty, he thought. Crossing his arms over his chest, he chose his next words carefully. "What did he tell you about being in HYDRA's captivity?"

He saw her lift her head a little, but not enough to meet his eyes. "That those were the darkest days of his life. Granddad lied about his age when he enlisted, so he was only seventeen when they shipped him out for active duty in 'forty-two. When he was a boy, he was already quite proficient in marksmanship, and following the Blitz a few years before, he didn't think twice about enlisting."

Bucky drew in a breath, his pulse racing when he recalled Danny mentioning that very same Blitz so long ago… "He lost someone." Emma looked up at him, her face unreadable as her eyes searched his. He swallowed, trying to sort through the images that were slowly rising from the depths of his psyche. "Didn't he?"

She continued to stare, but then she was nodding. "His best mate; died in the blast at Balham station in 1940."

A place where he was supposed to be safe, Danny had told him. Sixty-six people died that day, including his best friend.

"He thought his abilities might come in handy against German forces," Emma said, "and they even trained him up to be a sniper in the field." A sigh. "He was still just a kid when he was captured by HYDRA, and from what he described, they put him through absolute hell."

The flashes of memory that came now had Bucky squeezing his metal hand into a fist. Glimpses of when five of them were separated from the rest of the infantry and confined to an isolated sector of HYDRA's massive facility. At the time, none of them understood why they'd been singled out from the others, but it soon became clear that they all had one thing in common: the fact that they were all highly-skilled sharpshooters. And then he remembered hearing some of the guards murmuring amongst themselves in German…something about how keen the prisoners' eyesight was…

"Are you alright, James?"

"Yes," he answered abruptly, tearing himself out of thought. Emma's eyes were trained on him, and seeing them only served to remind him of the genuine fear he'd seen consuming Danny Archer's wide blue eyes. For a moment, he hesitated. Then, "Barnes was with him."

She made an acknowledging sound in her throat. "Thank goodness he was. From what Granddad said, Barnes managed to boost their morale right when they needed it most. In particular, though, he'd talk to Granddad about his past, listened to his dreams for the future…" She seemed to smile faintly to herself. "In a way, it sounded like he might have been looking out for him."

Because he was so young, Bucky thought sadly. Because in a way, he reminded me of Steve. Someone who… "He needed protection."

Her lips parted, and then she released a breath. "With what they endured during that time, yes."

This time, it was Bucky who lowered his eyes. "They were tortured."

"Subjected to daily beatings," she affirmed, "and judging by the burn scars on his arms, a lot more went on than he was ultimately willing to tell me."

He ducked his head, closing his eyes as he remembered Danny's screams from behind that steel door. Being separated from the others for hours—even days at a time—was far more tormenting than being beaten at regular intervals, especially when they weren't entirely aware of what was taking place beyond the walls of their holding cell.

"One-by-one, those men were taken away until all that remained were him and Barnes. The uncertainty of whether or not he'd even live to see the next day took its toll on Granddad, but…" She became quiet, then gradually gave the barest of smiles. "Through it all, he remembered his Sergeant's voice cutting through the worst of his fears, telling him to never give up; to never let them break him, no matter how hard they tried."

Yes. He remembered. He'd repeated those words even as they dragged him away for what very well could have been the last time.

You don't give up when there's still a chance to fight, Danny. Not when there's always something worth fighting for, you hear me? For Martin, you have to fight…

Martin. His friend who'd perished in the Blitz.

"Ever since I was a child," Emma said, prompting him to lift his head, "I'd heard that account from my Granddad, and every single time, he'd end by telling me that he never would have survived that bloody war had it not been for a Yank named Barnes." She lifted her eyes to his. "He gave him reason to hope at a time when there was none to hold onto, and I have no doubt that doing so saved his life. I only wish there was that I could have met him so I could thank him myself."

Seeing the way her eyes shimmered in the low light caused a mild tremor to ripple through his chest, and he felt his nostrils flare as he exhaled. It was one of the most sincere, heartfelt statements anyone had ever said to him, and somehow, he knew he'd carry those words with him for as long as he lived.

Then a contemplative look overcame Emma's features, and he didn't miss it when she started biting down on her lip.

"What's wrong?" He asked.

Despite the dim light of the room, he could have sworn he saw a tint of color come to her cheeks. "Thinking about my Nan, and the courtesies she instilled in me as I grew up. She always said the kindest way to thank someone for a good deed is by bestowing the gift of a kiss upon them." He blinked, sensing a shift in her eyes that his heartbeat accelerating. "And since Sergeant Barnes isn't here…"

Bucky's eyes widened when she pushed away from the armrest and came to stand right in front of him. Uncrossing his arms slowly, he didn't move any further…wasn't sure if he could move…

She took a breath. "As a member of his family, would you please accept this gift for him, James?" And then she was leaning in close to kiss his cheek—

The images were flashing through his mind before he knew what was happening. One second, it was Emma's sweet face inching towards his, and then the next it was suddenly the face of another woman entirely, this one with brown eyes and hair. And then another new face. And another. All done up prettily, all smiling with intent as they glanced up at the sprig of green and white hanging overhead—mistletoe?—then leaned in to—

It was too much to handle all at once, and he didn't realize he'd flown backwards until he smacked harshly against the wall behind him. At the same time, his ears detected the shocked gasp tearing from Emma's throat, followed by a shattering sound.

"Oh God, James—!"

His breaths were heaving, the memories still running their course through his mind, those faces now speaking to him softly...or pulling him back out to the dance floor as the band started up again…

Giving his head a shake, his eyes gradually came back into focus, seeing the smashed porcelain mug at Emma's feet. Lifting his head, his heart clenched at the stricken expression on her face, a hand pressed to her chest as though to calm her frantic heart.

"James, I…I-I'm sorry…" Her whispers seemed so far away, and though he tried to cling desperately to the sound of her voice…

Closing his eyes, he raised a hand—his metal hand—to silence her apologies. "No, it's not…it's…I just…" He hadn't expected the mental images to come as rapidly as they had this time, but try as he might, the words simply would not come to him. Not with the visions still stirring up so much confusion in his heart. With a great sigh, he managed to rasp out, "I should go," though couldn't bring himself to look at her again.

It took a moment, but then he heard Emma sigh. "Alright."

It was such a sad reply. He squeezed his jaws together one last time, and then he huffed out a breath as he strode through the living room, never looking back as he headed for the staircase. Taking the stairs two at a time, he headed straight for his bedroom at the end of the hall, leaning back against the door after he'd closed it.

Shit, he hissed to himself, letting his head fall into his hands. It wasn't how he'd wanted the evening to end—let alone his first Christmas Eve in his new home—and he could hardly ignore the burning waves of guilt that were wafting through his chest.

Emma…Digging his fingers into his scalp, he released a long, slow sigh. Her eyes had been so full of concern…for him…

He had no idea how long he stood there like that, but eventually, he heard the front door open and close, followed shortly by the sound of an engine rumbling to life outside. Emma's car. She was leaving, and he could hardly blame her after what had occurred.

Damn it.

Shoving away from the door, Bucky went back downstairs, retrieving the journal Kim had given him from the coffee table in the living room. It didn't escape his attention that Emma had cleaned up any traces of the broken mug from the floor. He sighed quietly, then took a seat on the edge of the sofa. Opening his journal to the first page, he picked up the pencil from the table, and thoughts of Emma's warm smile filled his mind as he began sketching by the soft lights of the tree.

~December 25, 2014~

"You sure about this?" Kim asked a second time, moving in closer behind him.

"Yes," Bucky breathed, his eyes closing as she trailed her fingertips through his damp hair.

"I won't go nuts," she said, "just enough to clean it up."

He nodded. "Go ahead, Kim."

That seemed to be all the assurance she needed. Feeling her thread her fingers through his hair, she gathered a small section at the back of his head, and soon enough, the first tinny snip of the scissors reached his ears. It was followed by a second snip. A third. Settling back in his chair, he sighed appreciatively. It was safe to assume that his hair hadn't been cut since 1944, and the only person he would trust to do it now was Kim. He needed this. Needed to shed himself of any semblance HYDRA had forced upon him. Needed to start chiseling away the part of him he no longer recognized, no longer wanted to be a part of him.

That's not me, he insisted, and for once, he dared to let himself believe it. Not anymore.

And he wouldn't lie: there was a part of him that wanted Emma to see him the way he hoped to be seen…

Emma, he thought to himself with a sigh. "She'll be there tomorrow?" He asked.

"Mmm," she acknowledged briefly. "Said she'd be on day shift, and that usually means she's out by four." Snip-snip. "Might want to get there just a bit before that."

Yes, he agreed silently, already mapping out the day in his mind.

"She's okay, Buck," Kim commented, combing her fingers over the area she'd just trimmed. "Shit happens, but she's more understanding than you know."

Ever-so-slowly, the faintest of smiles ghosted upon his lips. It was hardly how he wanted things to be on their first Christmas together, but as usual, his niece's capacity for compassion and understanding never ceased to amaze him. All she wanted to do was help him in any way possible, and once again he'd felt his heart swell not only in gratitude, but also in absolute pride. For the selflessness she continued to demonstrate towards those she cared about, he truly was honored to call her family.

Snip. Snip. "Her grandpa really called you a Yank?"

Hearing the humor in her voice, he allowed his smile to widen. "Apparently, your uncle was known as Yankee Barnes before being recruited as a Commando."

Her soft laugh warmed his heart. By now, the brunt of guilt had run its course, and though the events of the last night continued to replay themselves in his mind, he decided that now was the time to face what had occurred, even if that meant taking himself well out of his comfort zone. In fact, that was exactly what he intended to do.

Tufts of his dark brown hair continued falling to his lap and to the dining room floor, and it was as though he could already feel a great weight being lifted from his head. He sighed again, letting his thoughts linger on Emma, and the way her smile had touched her eyes.

"What was it you wanted to tell me, by the way?" Kim asked after a while.

He clenched his teeth, but only briefly, knowing he could trust her without a second thought. "Something I want you to keep in mind," he angled his head towards her, "but only you. You are to never tell a soul what I'm about to tell you. Understood?"

He could practically feel her concerns escalate, but then she placed a hand on his shoulder. "Promise," she said simply.

And he knew that she would hold true to her word. "I'm going to give you a sequence, but I'm going to say it in English. I don't trust what might happen if I say it in Russian."

That hand squeezed his shoulder. "Okay; shoot."

Pulling a breath deep into his lungs, he slowly sighed as he began with, "Longing…"

~December 26, 2014~

"Right on the dot," Dave said as he finished counting the last dollar of Emma's cash-out. "You're good to go."

"Thanks, mate," she said, sliding from the stool she'd been sitting on. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"Oh, hey, watch your step out there: Robbie only salted about ten minutes ago."

"I will," she removed the apron from around her waist. "Have a good night, Cal."

"See ya, hon!" Callie, the young waitress now on duty said as they crossed paths.

Pulling the rubber-band tie from her ponytail, Emma combed her fingers through her loosened hair as she made her way towards the back of the diner. She'd been grateful for the distraction of work. Skyping with her parents on Christmas had helped to take her mind off of things, but it was only a temporarily fix. Work was different: the lunch rush had kept her moving, kept her busy, forced her to focus on the immediate concerns of her customers and co-workers for the better part of a few hours. Now that her shift was ending, however…

Seeing that the server's booths were still empty, she couldn't help but feel a small stab of disappointment. Yes, now that her shift was over, it was easier to dwell on the thoughts that had been troubling her for the past two days. So much of her had hoped that Kim and James might come in at some point during her shift, that maybe they'd gone for one of their jogs with plans to stop in afterwards. Even if it had resulted in nothing more than simple conversation, it would have at least given her reason to feel a little more at ease. But the main rush had come and gone, and with it, her hopes of seeing either one of them. Then again…

…after what had taken place on Christmas Eve, why would James even want to see her?

James, her mind whispered sadly, the image of his wide blue eyes still etched into her memory. She couldn't decipher what emotion he'd been feeling in that moment, but no matter what it was, it was very clear that she'd overstepped her boundaries with him. Considering her granddad's experience with PTSD, she absolutely should have known better; should have scolded herself for even entertaining the idea to begin with…regardless of what she was...beginning to feel for him.

I'm so sorry.

With a sigh, she walked past the booths and into the server's closet, retrieving her coat and purse from one of the hooks inside. Once she'd zipped her coat, she dug her hands into her pockets, her brow furrowing when she found them to be empty. Oh, right; she'd left them out in the car. Shouldering her purse, she spared one last glance at the booth Kim and James normally occupied. What she would have given to see him sitting there, hunched over as he silently scribbled into his notebook, as he often times did…

Giving her head a brief shake, Emma tucked her folded apron into the crook of her elbow and headed for the front, feeling almost as though she was moving in slow motion as she brushed past Callie once more. Thoughts of James were still prominent in her mind, but she didn't bother fighting them now. Those eyes…They intrigued her with their ability to change color, appearing more blue or grey depending on the light, something that made her secretly study them every time he looked at her. And the intensity that was ever-present behind them whenever he stared, something that had become more noticeable when he'd pulled his hair back that night…

Pushing the door open, she hardly heard the tinkering of the bell overhead, carefully stepping onto the freshly salted stairs as her cheeks were greeted by the biting nip of frigid—

"Emma."

That voice alone was enough to make her look up, and when she saw who was approaching, Emma came to a dead stop, her eyes widening in disbelief. "James?" She asked incredulously.

He had his baseball cap clutched in his hands, and as he paused in his step, he drew in a breath through parted lips. "Hi."

She knew it was rude to stare, but she could hardly take her eyes off of him, her pulse starting to race as she came down the remaining steps. "You…you've cut your hair."

He cleared his throat, his fingers appearing to tighten on his hat. "Yeah," he brought a hand to rub at his nape. "Kim did it. I mean, I asked her to."

She nodded slowly, admiring the way the shortened tresses now framed his face instead of concealing it. "She did a good job," she said quietly, and she could have sworn she saw a faint flush rise to his cheeks. Cheeks that were not nearly as covered with stubble as she was accustomed to seeing. "And you…you shaved, too, didn't you?"

"Yesterday," he answered, lifting one shoulder in a half-shrug. "May as well put that shaving kit to good use."

Her heart was still fluttering, and she could feel her own cheeks warming against the cold as a familiar heat rose to her face. For the longest time, she'd considered him to be ruggedly handsome with his strong, angled features and sturdy build, but now seeing him like this…getting to see his eyes so clearly now…

At the same time, however, she couldn't ignore the burn of guilt that was still plaguing her heart. "About the other night: I'm sorry that I—"

But he raised his left hand to silence her. "You're not the one who needs to apologize; I am."

She blinked. The way he was looking at her... "But I shouldn't have pushed you—"

That same gloved hand rose a bit higher. "Emma, please," he insisted quietly, his eyes holding hers in a way that had her heart leaping into her throat, "just listen to me."

Her gaze never breaking from his, Emma closed her mouth, slowly exhaling through her nose as she waited for him to go on.

Lowering his hand, he said, "I want you to know that what happened that night wasn't your fault. There are things I'm still dealing with that come back to me now and then, and that includes some memories that my mind is…trying to remember." He hesitated, but went on. "Can be overwhelming at times, but that has nothing to do with you. I just wish I hadn't ended up having the kind of reaction that I did in front of you. I'm sorry for that, Emma. I really am."

Though she felt a great weight lifting from her shoulders, she pressed her lips together in a thin, sad smile. "It's alright, James. You really don't have to explain, but apology accepted."

It was then that the gentlest of smiles crossed his face, an act that brightened his eyes in a way she hadn't seen before. For some reason, it caused a prickling sensation to begin in the back of her mind, though she wasn't exactly sure why. "You also need to know that there wasn't anything you did that night that I considered an unwelcome gesture on your part."

At that, her stomach flipped nervously, and that same prickling seemed to intensify the longer she stared at him. Though she still didn't understand it, it compelled her to pay close attention to him. To memorize every detail of the way he was smiling at her in this very moment…

She opened her mouth to speak, but it was he who interjected first. "You left your Christmas present, by the way," he said, reaching inside his coat and pulling out…a book. "It was wrapped, but…" He sighed, holding it out to her. "Here. I wanted to make sure you got it."

Tucking her apron under her arm, Emma accepted the book from him, her eyebrows lifting in surprise at the lovely, leather-bound copy of Catch-22 in her hands. The rich brown leather was adorned with a gold-stamped pattern all along its edges, giving it an antiqued appearance. "My goodness," she breathed in admiration.

"We weren't sure if you already had that one, but it's one of our favorites. And since it's a WWII novel, we thought that—"

"No no, I don't," she said. "I mean, I read it once a long time ago, but I never did get around to…" She trailed off as she lifted her eyes to his, unable to do anything more than stare into the intense grey-blue gaze. "This is beautiful," she finally managed to exhale. "Thank you, James. Thank Kim for me as well."

"I can do that. Or you can thank her in-person, if you like; we're planning on coming in tomorrow."

Hearing him say that caused a smile to slowly cross her lips, and she could have sworn she saw him swallow. Gazing down at the book again, she brushed her fingertips over the golden border.

"He would have said 'You're welcome.'" At that, Emma looked up at him, furrowing her brow inquiringly. "Sergeant Barnes. If he were alive…I know that's what he would have said regarding your grandfather."

Her heart practically leapt into her throat at the sincerity in his voice. Blinking slowly, she heard herself breathlessly utter, "Thank you."

"He sounds like he was a great guy, and I'd like to hear more about him from you sometime. About Danny. If that's okay with you, that is."

She was already nodding before he'd even finished his sentence. "Of course, soldier," she smiled.

And then he was reaching out to take one of her hands in his, a gasp catching in her throat as he brought it to his lips and pressed a tender kiss there. Her heart was pounding fiercely in her ears, rendering her unable to speak, but in truth, all she could focus on was how gentle that solid metal hand was through his glove, and the warmth of his lips against her cool skin…His kiss lingered for several more seconds before he pulled back, his eyes holding hers as a trembling breath passed her lips.

Then he was smiling. Though it was still small, there seemed to be a new kind of confidence shining through his features. "Merry Christmas, Emma," he said, lowering her hand before slipping his baseball cap back on. "I'll see you."

Emma watched as he turned and walked away, his hands shoved in his pockets as he crossed the parking lot from the direction in which he'd come. See you, her mind echoed in reply, and though she couldn't bring herself to speak the words aloud, the implication that she would see him again nevertheless had her smiling faintly.

Looking down at the book again, she happened to notice that one of the pages was slightly larger than the rest, as if it had been inserted into the middle of the book. Sure enough, there was a slight gap there, and she flipped the book open to see what was—

Emma's jaw dropped as she pulled in a long, slow breath. Inside that gap was a flower: a small pink rose that had been pressed and dried for quite some time, and if she wasn't mistaken, one that had come from a prized plant in Rebecca's own garden. And behind that delicate rose…was a hand drawn portrait. Of her.

Oh…my God. She carefully lifted the rose away so she could see the portrait in its entirety. An image of her smiling, her hair cascading over one shoulder as she cradled a mug in her hands. The curves of her fingers; the dimple on her cheek; the fullness of her lips…Based on the attention to detail and the shadowing techniques, there was only one artist who could have been responsible for this, and all she could do was marvel at the beauty he'd once again managed to capture using just a pencil and a piece of paper.

This was clearly done from the heart, she recalled telling him regarding his portrait of Rebecca. From the heart…

Lifting her head once more, Emma saw him walking further down the road, his tall, dark frame standing out starkly against the bright whiteness of the surrounding snow. He didn't turn back to look at her, and even though countless thoughts seemed to be racing through her mind in that moment, it didn't stop her lips from curving into a soft smile.

See you soon, she promised silently.

THE END

TBC in "Mercury Saga, Part IV: Into the Light" (coming soon...)

TRANSLATIONS:

Pokazhite mne, serzhant? = Show me, Sergeant?

Na strazhe, soldat. = On guard, soldier.

Pereyekhat'! = Move!

Bystreye! = Faster!

Bol'she ne nado = No more

Vol'no. Vse v poryadke = At ease. It's alright.

Davay, soldat = Come on, soldier.