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For once, DC was quiet. Sure, there were still the sounds of cars zipping around the streets and random pedestrians yammering into their phones, but the rat race had calmed. Steve was left to admire it all in solitude.
The buildings all looked particularly gray, as they often did when the sky was cold and overcast. There was a chilly wind biting through the air, promising an early and unforgiving winter. The newscasters were already nicknaming it the “Polar Vortex.”
Steve got cold a lot more easily these days. Back before the serum, he had gotten used to the way the freezing air would seep into his bones, refusing to leave until the first sign of Spring. He would huddle close to his mother or Bucky, whoever was around, and share what little warmth the two of them could hold onto. It was different during the war. They might have been marching through rain or snow, but Steve always felt like a walking furnace. It was strange and new, but it sure helped.
Now, he felt caught between the two. He wasn’t freezing, per se, but there was a bite that he hadn’t felt in a long time. Only this time, there was no one to chase it away.
Steve shoved his gloved hands deeper into the pockets of his jacket. His favorite diner was closed, as most of the other shops would be, so he had just skipped breakfast altogether. Rather than go for his morning run, he had decided to just stroll around the Mall. The wind was blowing hard off the Potomac. Steve had spent far too much of his life feeling cold, but he just couldn’t stay inside.
The only problem with that was that he would see Bucky everywhere. Where they’d fought. Where they’d fallen.
He and Sam had spent a month trying to get things in order, doing their best to search for him, but, come December, Sam insisted they take a break. Bucky was fully capable of handling himself, and the holidays were coming up. It was time to go home.
His apartment just didn’t feel like home anymore. In truth, it had never really felt like home. It was too big and too empty to be anything like his past homes. The little, broken apartments in Brooklyn, where he’d spent most of his time curled on the wilting bed next to his mom or tripping over Bucky and his big feet. What little they had filled up all the empty space, and there was always someone not far away.
Steve couldn’t stand the silence now. So he got out.
In hindsight, walking in the cold amongst the statues of a bunch of dead presidents wasn’t exactly the best solution. Lincoln’s stare didn’t get any less stoic just because it was Christmas.
In his pocket, his phone buzzed with a new message:
Nat: Merry Christmas, Gramps
Steve smiled. He hadn’t heard much from Natasha in the past month. The last time they’d talked had been at Fury’s grave, and she’d been trying to lay low after everything that happened in October. He hadn’t heard much from the others in a while either. There had been some media buzz about Tony recently, but he generally didn’t pay much attention to celebrity gossip. Tony was enough trouble on a regular basis, and Steve had no inclination to get pulled into that mess.
He tapped out a quick reply: Same to you, Widow. Try not to kill anyone this Christmas.
Only a few seconds passed before she answered:
Nat: No promises ;)
Steve wanted to laugh at that. For all he knew, Natasha could be in the middle of taking down some kind of terrorist ring. Or she could be cuddled up next to Clint wearing fuzzy socks and nursing a mug of hot coffee. At least she was in a good mood.
Glancing at the choppy waters of the Potomac once again, Steve sighed. There was nothing out here to fill up his holiday.
He had gone to visit Peggy yesterday. It was a good day; she’d been mostly coherent the whole time. They’d talked for a few hours, drifting from topic to topic. She told him about her family, how her oldest granddaughter was doing in college and how her son was planning on bringing the boys over for Christmas. She asked about Bucky and how he was adjusting. She worried, mainly because she couldn’t join in the chaos anymore.
She’d invited him to come back for Christmas dinner, but he hadn’t wanted to intrude. Nothing said Christmas quite like eating dinner with your ex-lover, her kids and grandkids.
So Steve decided to spend his evening at home. Alone. Again.
But hey, he shouldn’t complain. There was food and warmth, and it was a hell of a lot cozier than Brooklyn or the trenches.
By the time Steve got back to his building, his fingers had gone numb with cold. He rubbed them to bring back the feeling, while fumbling for his keys.
His door was at the end of the hall, and he could hear the sounds of pleasant celebration seeping through his neighbor’s doors. His own place was silent, or it should have been.
Nearing the door, Steve could hear Christmas music, Nat King Cole crooning away. The last time this had happened, Fury was inside bleeding and Bucky shot the place to hell. He was understandably wary.
Steve slipped inside quietly, gripping the umbrella that rested against the wall. No one in the living room. A cabinet door creaked as it shut in the kitchen. Something came down hard against the counter. Whoever was in there wasn’t worried about discretion.
Inching around the corner, Steve raised the umbrella up, readying for attack. His shoulders dropped immediately when he saw the sweatshirt-clad back in the kitchen.
“I don’t remember giving you a key, Sam.”
Sam jumped, nearly dropping the mug in his hand. “Jesus, man! Warn a man before you come in like that.”
Steve shot him an unimpressed look. “It’s my apartment.”
“Is that supposed to make a difference?” Sam turned back to his coffee. “Did you want some of this? Your coffee maker’s crap, but it’s too early for anything else.”
“It’s 10:30, Sam. You jog with me at 6 AM. In what world is this early?” Steve shrugs off his jacket and gloves.
“It’s Christmas, man! You’re supposed to sleep in on Christmas,” Sam said. He took another sip of coffee, grimacing as he did.
Steve snorted, dropping onto the couch. He wasn’t expecting to see Sam today. In fact, he wasn’t expecting to see anyone. Sam knew how to keep things easy, though, and Steve was grateful for that.
“What are you doing here, Sam? Just stopping by or…”
Sam spread his arms wide, mug in hand, and smirk on his face. “Well, seeing as you’re a loner who generally associates with missing ex-assassins, I thought I’d invite you to Christmas over at my place.”
“Natasha isn’t technically missing,” Steve answered. “And I was just planning on staying in for the holiday.” Steve shrugged.
“Even more reason to come over!” Sam said. “C’mon, my brother and sister are both coming and bringing the kids. It’ll be a regular family get-together.”
Steve sank down a little at that. “I don’t know, man. I can’t just –“
“You do realize this isn’t a question. You can and you will come over for Christmas dinner.” Sam face offered no hope for resistance. “Besides, my siblings suck in the kitchen, and I’m not cooking that bird alone.”
There was no getting out of this, then, and no point in fighting. “I see, so I’m just coming along to help.” Steve’s grin betrayed his tone of voice.
Sam tossed him his jacket, answering, “Eh, there might be some presents involved. And the nephews have been demanding proof that I’m actually friends with Captain America, so…”
Steve barked with laughter. “So I’m your cook and your trophy wife. Very nice, Falcon. I’m really feeling the love in this invitation.” Steve slid his gloves back on, getting ready for the cold.
Sam shrugged, grinning. “Y’know, I do what I can to thank the brave men and women of this nation.”
Steve’s face was light with mirth as they stepped out the door, laughing. “You’re so full of shit,” he said.
Laughter followed them down the hall, as Steve shut the door on his apartment and entered the cold once again. This time, he didn’t notice the sting quite as much.