For Griselda Banks

So, yes this is basically the Christmas chapter for This is Me, but I never planned to write it in this detail so here it is on its own and in season. I do reference Way Back When and Christmas Again as usual, since these all tie together. But this can be read on its own.

Merry Christmas to all of my lovely readers!

7

Bucky could count 7 stars in the slit of window he could actually see through from his angle. Thanks to Sam, their sleeping arrangements had gotten cramped and Bucky had been shuffled closer to the back wall of his hut.

Now, Bucky thought, he might actually want to leave his sleeping mat here. He liked being able to see the stars when he couldn't sleep. It reminded him of Dr. Dal's proverb, the one he had given Steve and Bucky back in July: Kukho iinkwenkwezi ezilikhulu ukukukhokela, kodwa enye kuphela iya kukukhokela ekhaya. There are a hundred stars to guide you, but only one will lead you home.

He tilted his head to better hear Steve's breathing, an arm's-length away. It reminded him of something: sleeping on the Rogers's floor on couch cushions, on Christmas Eve, because- because… the boiler blew. He remembered how his parents had fought and how he and Becca and Steve had huddled together and cried in the dark because it was the worst Christmas any of them could remember. Something else tickled at his memory, a happier moment, but when he turned to chase it down, it disappeared.

Bucky turned his gaze back to the stars, counting them again. He thought of stars and Christmas, of wise men and shepherds and the old story. He remembered the wonder and innocence of the celebrations he'd known as a boy, and the quiet reverence in a group of tired war-weary men. A bitter lump filled his throat and he closed his eyes, then snapped them open again.

No, he didn't want to go there, not now. He clenched a fold of the blanket in his fist, and tried to focus.

"Sargent Barnes?"

"Howard."

The single 'baa' of a sheep cut across the bloody memory, and Bucky caught at the sound, tethering himself to the present. His hut in Wakanda, Steve and Sam next to him, and the sheep and the stars outside. The smell of Africa on the night air. He released a shaky sigh, and rubbed his hand over his eyes.

Oh, to be a child again, to believe in goodness and kindness and hope. To believe in angels and miracles, like the shepherd boy he'd been in the Christmas pageant. Why did boys have to become men and get broken and get left to pick up the pieces? Why did they never fit back together the way they had?

A desperate longing wrapped around him like the shadows in the room, thick and suffocating. He swallowed hard, trying to breathe deeply, and focussed on the stars.

With a jerk he sat up, pushed his blanket aside, got to his feet. Out there, under that dizzying sprawl of African stars, maybe he would be able to breathe. He would sit with the sheep and maybe- maybe… He didn't know what.

Bucky blinked, tried to focus on getting out without waking either of his companions, his heartbeat steadied by a purpose; he would have to step over Steve and Sam to make it to the doorway to the front room. Also, he should take a blanket to sit on, and maybe another if he decided to sleep out there. He turned back, and bent to pick up his one blanket.

Bucky felt the slight resistance too late, and something tumbled out of the folds of fabric to hit the dirt floor with a thud. In the stillness the sound seemed amplified times ten, and he froze, mentally cursing himself.

Steve's breathing hitched, and Bucky slowly turned his head to peer down at his friend. The bulky shadow on the next bed stirred, and Steve pushed himself up on one elbow. "Buck?" he murmured.

Bucky swallowed, unsure how his voice would come out. "S'okay."

"Huh?" Steve sat up, coming fully awake now, stared up at him.

"Just… need some fresh air. Watch the stars."

Steve smiled suddenly, his teeth white in the darkness. "On Christmas Eve? Not a bad idea." There was a moment's silence, and Bucky turned to gather up the blanket, half-hoping…

"Want company?"

Bucky shrugged, knowing Steve would hear it, if he didn't see it, and was only half sorry when he turned around to see Steve standing, blanket tossed around his shoulders.

That was okay. Steve would know if he didn't want to talk, and it would be warmer to sit next to Steve anyway. Better company than just the sheep and goats.

They both stepped across the floor now, Steve in the lead; and of course he, Captain America the great clumsy oaf, tripped right over Sam.

Steve's startled curse was muffled by Sam Wilson, starting up from the floor with a snort and a gasp, one hand swinging out to grab at the supposed intruder.

"Sam!" Steve hissed.

Sam froze, then relaxed, sinking back onto his elbows. "Next time, tell me you're gonna wake me up, 'kay?" he grumbled.

"Sorry," Steve said. "We were just going out to look at the stars." (Oh, please don't say it, Bucky thought.) "You want to come?"

Sam groaned and stretched, then yawned. "Sure, why not?"

Bucky closed his eyes. Apparently, he was simply fated to have no time alone. But he didn't want to be alone, did he? He was alone every night Steve was gone, he'd been alone for… 70 years. And not just in cryo. Even in the middle of scientists and guards and handlers he had been alone. They didn't hug him the way Steve did, or tease him like Sam, or call him Soldat with Natasha's smirk. They didn't see him, not him, not Bucky.

"Buck?"

A touch on his arm, and he looked up with a start. Sam halfway out the door, looking back over his shoulder, and Steve right beside him. "Yeah. Let's go."

As they stepped out into the cooler night air, Bucky heard another bleat from one of the goats, and turned to make a beeline for the corral.

"Hey, girls," he said softly, leaning on the fence, counting their shapes in the starlight. Four goats, eight sheep. "It's Christmas Eve."

They stirred, lifted their heads, listening to his voice. He opened the latch on the gate and stepped in, waited for Steve and Sam to join him.

Sam sniffed and made grumbling noises under his breath, but Bucky ignored him and made sure the gate was shut.

"Steph?" he heard Steve murmur, and the sound of an animal getting up, a soft 'baa'. Bucky didn't actually know how many hours Steve had spent baiting that ewe, with the one black eye, with sweet bits of grain and fruit, until she would come at his call. Bucky had christened her Stephanie, since Steven didn't work.

Bucky turned to see Steve crouching down to scratch her head, and she butted his arm affectionately. Sam gave a little snort. "You Dr. Doolittle now too?"

Steve did not answer, but Bucky thought he saw his friend's teeth gleam in a quick grin. Bucky sucked in a deep breath, smelled the animals, the earth, felt the shimmer of the stars. Without saying anything he tossed his blanket down and turned to sit on it, back against the fence.

Steve came and sank down beside Buck, Stephanie following him. Bucky couldn't help smirking as Sam carefully spread out his own sheet and sat, no doubt trying to avoid anything nasty. Bucky hardly cared any more.

"We're just like shepherds," Steve said, "out under the stars."

"Yeah. 'And there were shepherds in the fields of Wakanda, keeping watch over their flocks by night.'" Sam shook his head. "Like I'm back in the 'Stan, have to watch where you step on those paths. And the waste ditches. When you have to cover, you cover, but man, that stuff gets into your clothes and then none of the guys want to be near you for a week or two."

Bucky shifted a little closer to Steve's warmth, cocked his head. "We slept in barns plenty of times in Europe."

"If we were lucky, there'd be animals in it to keep it warm," Steve said. "Most of the time they were empty or abandoned." He smiled. "Got found by the farmer's daughter once. You did your best to be charming, but she would have scared the spit out of a snake."

"Had to be you, the golden boy with the perfect accent, she liked," Bucky said.

"She kept watching you," Steve countered. "But maybe she just wished she had your rifle."

Sam laughed. "She could probably shoot us all down."

Bucky liked talking about old times with Steve. Steve remembered the things he didn't, but sometimes he remembered things Steve had forgotten. Like that pretty girl in the house across the cove, when the Barnes went to the cottage in Maine, the summer after Aunt Sarah died. And Bucky had been showing off with the motorboat, nearly wrecked her on the dock, except Steve saved them at the last second. The little punk.

He turned his head to give Steve a fond smile. "Remember the Christmas when the boiler blew?"

Steve's face lit up. "And you all crammed in with us for three days?"

"Yeah. My dad didn't want to ask anyone for help, you know how he was."

"Sounds like you," Sam murmured.

Bucky stared at him. When was the last time someone said something like that? He knew he'd gotten his looks from his mother, his slim build from his father.

"Yeah," Steve was saying. He chuckled. "I can see that."

"How am I like Mother?" Bucky asked, the question surprising him too.

Steve tilted his head thoughtfully. "You were always friendly and outgoing like her. Protective, too. Good with kids."

Sam laughed. "Bang on."

Bucky would have kicked him, except he was on Steve's other side. Instead he leaned against Steve, the only person left who knew where he came from, knew who he had been, and had never lost his grip on Bucky. Even when it seemed that every bridge between them was broken, every hope shattered, there was a thread that had never snapped, a thread Bucky was sure would hold forever.

He thought of everything Steve had done, given up, poured out for Bucky, for him. He thought of the little handful of gifts he'd picked out at the markets or made himself. Mentally, he compared them, and it was like a little paper of star stickers (the neighbour in St. Louis had a grand-daughter who sent her cards with star stickers on them) beside the entire galaxy of hope and life Steve had given him. No matter how many Christmases passed in the years ahead, he knew he would never be able to repay his brother.

"What else happened that Christmas?" he asked, then hoped no one had heard the choke in his voice.

"We slept on the floor," Steve began.

"On couch cushions," Bucky interrupted.

"And Becca woke us up because she was crying," Steve continued, more serious. "So we decided to remind the grown-ups what Christmas was really about."

Bucky let himself relax against Steve's shoulder, closed his eyes and pictured it: the Rogers's little apartment, a tiny tree decorated with bits of colored paper and ribbon, and, for a few nights, the Barnes family's string of white lights. Bucky Barnes let himself imagine he was a boy again.

Sam had never seen so many stars, or at least not in years. He lay back, propped his head on Steve's shins and stared up into the glittering expanse, softer than he remembered that other Christmas Eve. Here they reminded him of crafts Sarah's kids would make, glitter scattered across the table. There they had been sharp and white as living diamonds, the air cold and…

Sam blinked, then sighed and closed his eyes, Steve's voice a murmur in the background, along with Bucky's soft chuckle. He could hear Riley's voice in there too, laughing, whooping as they dove and swooped through the night air.

It had been Christmas Eve, the only Christmas they'd been deployed. Their base was situated right where the desert met the mountains, and the temperatures had always been extreme: blistering sun during the day, dipping almost to freezing at night.

It had been Riley's idea, of course; Riley was the daredevil, the risk-taker, the hard-working, loud-living, big-hearted Texan. He drove Sam crazy with his various obsessions, but most of all his love of country music. He was always singing a snatch of some Garth Brooks hit or John Denver classic, and he'd also been great on the guitar, picking out any tune shouted at him on 'campfire' nights, as he called them. Sam wished now that he'd told Rye how good he'd sounded, like something off a CD.

It was Christmas Eve and Riley had been sitting up awake, whistling softly to himself. Sam had come in from the washrooms and Riley stopped humming, grinned at him. "Nice night out there?"

Sam shrugged, sat on his bunk. "Clear as ice water."

"Let's take the Falcons up."

Sam had not been paying attention and Riley repeated himself.

"Let's take the Falcons up. Come on," he added, "it's Christmas Eve. We need to have some fun. Since they're all having fun at home without us."

Both men were silent for a minute, thinking of their families. Their parents at home, Sam's sister and family in Vermont, Riley's fiancée Rachel with her family in Houston, Simon sitting in his cell out in California… Sam glanced back up at the man who had become his second brother, who had somehow healed the part of Sam's heart that Simon had left broken.

"Let's go."

Officers be hanged, Sam and Riley had suited up and taken off into the dark. He remembered the exhilaration of flight, the cold air like a kind of liquid flowing around him, through him. Riley laughing over the comms until Sam joined him, both of them shouting for the joy of life itself.

The mountains were jagged cut-outs against the sky, and the stars were white ice etched in black marble. He remembered cartwheeling through the air to catch Riley's hands, then swinging up over his wingman's head as Riley tumbled in a series of somersaults, before Sam pulled him up.

Their good sense soon got the better of them, and they dropped the stunts in favor of long dives and swooping climbs. Somewhere between the highs and the lows, Riley started singing: Joy to the world, the Lord is come! Sam had joined in without a second thought.

There had been good Christmases before that, but that was the best Sam had had since his father had died. He remembered walking back to the barracks, light headed and weak-kneed, both of them still wrapped in wonder.

They'd held onto that wonder, as they crouched in the dust and gunfire of Christmas Day, blood smeared across Riley's forehead where he'd swiped his arm, Sam's fingers on the soldier's pulse: another life saved.

As they loaded him into the chopper, Riley had whispered in the kid's ear, "Merry Christmas." As they stepped back Sam met his gaze, mouthed the words: These things we do.

They had made their way back to their lockers, stiff, dirty, and weary. Fryer and Mikey Keegan and Peterson were also stripping off their gear, and Sam could feel the mood lifting. It was Christmas Day and nobody had died.

The Colonel stalked up, something between a frown and a smirk on his face. "I had a report of angels being spotted last night. Anyone see anything?" He glanced sharply at Riley. "Smith, you were up late. See anything out of the ordinary?"

"Nothing, sir. Except his ugly mug," he jerked his head at Sam, "and his," Fryer, "and his," Keegan, "and they were asleep."

"Well, the angels were out today," Colonel Davis said, face softening. "Go have yourselves at least a little merry Christmas."

Riley caught Sam's eye, and Sam gave him a small secret grin. Yeah, they'd already had their celebration.

Sam felt Steve's leg shaking, under his head, and Riley's laughter melted into Steve and Bucky's, and Sam snapped his eyes open.

Steve, laughing all out, Bucky with him, the sound like music lifted to the stars. "And you threw them in the ocean!"

"I did not!" Bucky gasped.

Sam lifted his head, turned to stare at them. "Are you laughing about that again?"

They broke into fresh peals of laughter, and Sam felt a smirk cross his face. He would never take offence that Bucky was the only one who could make Steve sound like that. He was just happy someone could.

And Bucky. There were times he had wondered just how much of himself Steve's old friend would ever be able to find. But he'd found the most important part with Steve, and the rest he was free to figure out. Sam liked the Bucky he'd gotten to know over the last couple months. It had been a hectic summer into the fall, and only Steve had made it to Wakanda for a couple visits between his birthday and Thanksgiving. Natasha and Wanda were both good friends that Sam did not hesitate to trust with his life, but between the three men there had sprung up a camaraderie, a brotherhood like Sam hadn't known since the days with Riley and the others.

Bucky would tease him, whipping out snarky comments which Sam could never let pass, and they would go at it until Steve broke them up with his own gentle mockery, or occasionally physical separation, and next thing they would all be laughing.

Sam blinked, realizing his eyelids had gotten heavy again, and yawned; he shifted into a more comfortable position, still using Steve's legs as a pillow. "You guys better have gotten me something good for Christmas. To make up for all the crap I get the rest of the year."

"If that's how you want to put it," Bucky said, "I'm sure you'll be quite satisfied with the box of nothing we ordered for you."

"Although it seems Wakandan nothing is worth a lot more," Steve said.

"And more technologically advanced," Bucky added.

"Nothing is more technologically advanced than Wakanda."

"Exactly!"

They were laughing again.

Steve leaned his head back against the fence, gazed up in the African sky. It still hadn't gotten old for him, even though he'd seen it a couple dozen times over the last year. The millions of stars flung across the dark velvet sky seemed to dwarf him, but it was a dwarfing he didn't mind. These days it was nice to feel small and insignificant in the sprawling galaxies of the universe; maybe everyone would forget about him and he could just stay here forever: Bucky leaning against him, head on Steve's shoulder; and Sam, almost-not-quite snoring by their feet.

Buck shifted and Steve pulled his right arm out from between them, and wrapped it around his friend, pulling Bucky in against his side. It was funny how, without the other man's left arm to get in the way, their ribs would press together so Steve could feel Bucky's heartbeat strong and sure.

Buck sighed contentedly, letting his head fall against Steve's chest, and Steve tilted his head to rest his cheek on Bucky's hair.

It was so easy to do this with Buck, to simply be. It might be Christmas tomorrow, but Bucky had already given Steve the greatest gift possible. He had only ever seen Steve as Steve, a man who did his best, who wanted to fight for good and help others, but who made mistakes, who broke and bled like anyone else. And Bucky loved him anyway. He never stopped believing that Steve could make a difference, never stopped reminding him that there was good in this world, never stopped encouraging him to find the things that made him happy.

Steve had, not the Buck he had known, but the Bucky he needed now. And that would always be enough. Friends like Sam and Nat and Wanda and the little kids were like icing on the cake.

He sighed, glancing down at Sam, asleep. He worried about him, on the run, never seeing his family, cut off from everything he'd known before he met Steve. Sometimes the guilt would hit hard, like it had as they were preparing to leave Russia last week. Here was one more Christmas Sam would spend away from home, and that was all Steve's fault.

He'd tried to tell the other soldier some of what he was thinking, but Sam had stopped him mid-sentence. "You chose this path. So did I. You might not always be right, but you ain't usually wrong. My folks know that, they get it. Sure my momma worries about me, but long as she knows I'm doing what I believe is right, she's with me. This is what I'm here for. And don't kid yourself, man. You need me." That little smirk.

But Steve could only shake his head, and grip Sam's shoulder 'til the other man winced. "You bet I do," he finally said. "You bet I do."

Stephanie the sheep shifted against Steve's other hip, quiet now that she'd stopped chewing her cud.

"Your heart sounds different."

Bucky's words startled him, and it took an extra second before he processed the words. "Since when?"

"Since Brooklyn." Meaning before the serum, before the war.

"That a bad thing?"

"Nah." His voice was deep and slow; Steve could feel him drifting toward sleep. "Good thing."

"Well, you hardly snore anymore."

Buck's breath hitched, though only Steve would notice. "Didn't want to make too much noise on a mission."

Oh, yeah. Not the smartest thing to say, Rogers. "Hey," he murmured. "Go back to sleep if you want."

"You good?"

"Yeah. It's the Captain's job to keep watch."

He heard Bucky snort, and mumble something, which Steve ignored. Gently he shifted his friend's position, 'til he lay with his head in Steve's lap, Steve's right arm draped over him.

Bucky put out his hand to pat Steve's knee. "HYDRA made one mistake you know." The words came soft and dreamy, and Steve felt that this was one of those things Bucky wouldn't be likely to say if he was fully awake. "They sent me after you. I guess they didn't realize they could get you out of my head, but they could never take you out of my heart."

That's… what brothers are for.

Steve fought back a lump in his throat and closed his eyes for a moment. "'cause I'm with you to the end of the line, pal," he whispered.

"One star," he heard Bucky murmur. "Just one star."

Steve tipped his head back, let the brilliant sky blur into an ocean of soft light. He was crying at Christmas, what else was new?

The hush of the night settled over them, a peace that infiltrated Steve's very bones. He felt Bucky curling up a little closer, and smoothly pulled the blanket off his shoulders to drape over his friend.

It didn't matter that there would be no snow, no tree, no stockings, no cedar or turkey or crowds of family. Christmas wasn't about what you wanted, it was about what you'd been given. And he, he had enough.

An old Christmas carol, one of his mother's favorites, came back to him:

Oh, holy night, the stars are brightly shining

It is the night of our dear Savior's birth

Long lay the world in sin and error pining

'Til He appeared and the soul felt its worth

In a field in Africa, with the sheep and the goats and his two best friends, and the stars keeping watch, he was safe. He rested his head against the fence, and let his eyes flutter shut.

Steve awoke to a brilliant golden dawn that took his breath away, and Becca the goat chewing calmly on a corner of the blanket that covered Bucky.

The others awoke slowly. Sam stretched and groaned and complained, while Bucky twisted his head to smile at Steve, then lay there for another five minutes scratching Becca's head.

They finally got up, shook the dirt and animal droppings off the blankets, causing Sam to make a disgusted face, and Bucky to laugh at him. "You can help me do the laundry tomorrow," he said, and Sam rolled his eyes, muttered something like, "Dear Lord, send us a mission first."

They were standing on Bucky's doorstep, when shrill voices called.

"Steve!"

"Ingcuka Emhlophe!"

Steve caught up the smallest of the little brown boys who came crowding around, tossed him into the air to make him squeal. "Merry Christmas, Mabhuti!"

"Steve!" he said again, wrapping one arm around Steve's neck and bouncing in the man's hold on him.

"Okay, okay, I'm here." Steve glanced at Bucky and Sam, surrounded by the Three Musketeers; he and Buck shared a smile. "What's got you so excited? Where's Nontasasa?" Usually the kid's big sister was on his heels, constantly rescuing him from trouble.

"She is with Mama. They were busy in the night. They are trying to sleep now."

Steve chuckled. "And of course, they had to send you to Umkhulu's for that to happen."

Bucky looked down at Khwezi, who held his hand and jumped around like a fish on a line. "What were Khanyiswa and Nontasasa doing?"

"Thembeka had her baby last night!"

"She is Khanyiswa's sister," Avi added.

"A baby?" Sam raised his eyebrows. "Last night?"

"Boy or girl?" Steve asked.

"Boy." Mabhuti bounced again, and Steve tightened his grip.

"His name is Akhona," Khwezi said.

Bucky and Steve went still, staring at each other, then began to chuckle, shaking their heads.

"I guess it is Christmas," Bucky said. "You didn't happen to see any angels last night?"

Steve shook his head. "Just your ugly mugs."

Bucky gave him a funny little smile. "Well, I know I've seen one."

As he swung Mabhuti onto his shoulders, Steve wondered at the look on Sam's face. "Well, I personally know two," he said, moving to bump the other man's shoulder with his. "Two big ones, and several smaller ones."

"Akhona," Bucky said, scooping up Khwezi with his one arm. "Good name."

Steve smiled, pulled him into a hug on one side, Sam on the other. The children giggled and wrapped their arms around the adults and each other, turning it into a big group hug.

"Is this Merry Christmas?" Bucky asked, resting his head against Steve's, then pulling back and sticking his tongue out at Mabhuti, who returned the favor above Steve's head.

"It's Merry Christmas, pal."

Steve heard Sam catch a deep breath, before easing back so he could smile at them both. "Yeah. Merry Christmas."

They stood there for a moment, until Mabhuti leaned down and said, in what was probably intended to be a whisper, "Coke this morning?"

"Yep," Bucky said, and Steve gave a 'hurrah'.

"Pancakes?" Avi asked, looking up at Sam.

"Yep."

Another 'hurrah' from Steve.

"So I should get changed and get started on that." Sam ducked into the hut, and Steve looked down at the kids.

"You guys go run and get Natasha and Wanda. The white-haired girl and the red-haired girl."

"Okay!"

"I want to go too!" Mabhuti said, and Steve caught him as he fell off in his hurry, set the child on his feet. He and Buck stood and watched the four go, Khwezi grabbing Mabhuti's hand to make sure he kept up.

"A boy," Bucky murmured.

"Whadda'ya know about that?"

Bucky turned to him and Steve was startled to see tears glistening in his eyes. "Steve, I don't–"

"No one does." He wrapped Buck in a hug, rested his chin on his shoulder. "It's Christmas."

Bucky buried his face against Steve's neck, gave a choked little laugh. "I know."

A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices

For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn

Fall on your knees, oh hear the angel voices

Oh, night divine, oh, night when Christ was born

Oh, night divine, oh night, oh night divine

FYI: Akhona means 'gift' and Khwezi means 'star'.

Hope you liked it. Reviews are always appreciated.

Merry Christmas!