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Brock stepped into the house, brushing the snow off his shoulders. He set his boots under the shelf out of habit, then paused to listen.
Something felt off.
Too quiet. Suspiciously calm.
Considering there were two super-soldiers in the house who, in civilian life, managed to be surprisingly loud and clumsy, the silence was downright unnatural.
Brock reached for the hidden Glock — more out of habit than worry — and made his way toward the kitchen and living room. Even though he moved quietly, the supers must have spotted him first: he caught a hurried whisper, “Faster! Faster!” Moments later, two very composed faces emerged from the pantry, wearing the kind of innocent expressions that only made them look more suspicious.
The acting skills of the household super-soldiers left much to be desired — though Brock generously gave them an extra point for those final, rallying smiles. He snorted, clearly suspicious, and lowered the gun. There was no danger in the house — just two idiots clearly up to something again.
“Alright, out with it. What did you do this time?” Brock asked, sprawling on the couch. The supers plopped down on either side of him, their faces stretched into overly calm smiles that didn’t fool anyone — especially since they were practically vibrating with excitement.
Cleaning up after those two Brooklyn troublemakers had long since become Brock Rumlow’s way of life. Whether at work or at home, the tasks were more or less the same — which meant his experience was vast, and his knowledge of mischievous natures even greater. Yet trying to guess exactly what they had done this time was still beyond him.
Bucky shifted a little, sighed, exchanged a quick glance with the ever-supportive Rogers, and then rested his heavy head on Brock’s shoulder.
“We went to get a Christmas tree.”
Brock deliberately looked around at the towering evergreen in the huge tub — it nearly reached the ceiling — and raised an eyebrow before turning a questioning look toward Steve.
“The forest,” Rogers added helpfully.
“I kinda figured,” Rumlow exhaled, eyeing the puddles of melted snow spreading across the parquet around the tree. “And?”
“It was so beautiful there,” Bucky said dreamily, those absurdly blue eyes locking straight onto Brock’s soul. “Like something out of a postcard, can you imagine, Brock?”
To his left, Rogers sighed blissfully, clearly sharing the exact same winter wonderland memory as his mental twin.
Brock frowned. Something wasn’t adding up. Years of living with these two had taught him one thing — if they’d done something, it was better to know what exactly before the consequences hit.
“And?” he prompted, giving the pair of motionless, heroic statues a pointed look while eyeing the tree.
It was a tree. A perfectly normal one. Beautiful, lush, smelling gloriously of pine and sap. The tub was intact, the parquet hadn’t warped from the snow, and there wasn’t any real mess to speak of.
He squinted, trying to see into the pantry — the same one his partners in chaos had mysteriously been hiding in before he came home — but with the lights off, and without any serum-enhanced night vision, it was a losing battle.
Bucky, following his gaze, forced a smile and jumped in quickly.
“Hungry? I roasted some meat.”
“We’ll have dinner and decorate the tree after,” Steve added cheerfully, gently steering Brock toward the kitchen and away from the pantry.
Brock watched, nose slightly wrinkled in suspicion, as an overly attentive Bucky served him a double portion.
Nothing good ever started this way. Nothing at all.
The supers dug into their food as if they’d spent the past week living on military rations. Then again, judging by the size of that perfectly fluffy tree they’d brought home, they
probably trekked miles through the snowy woods, hauling tools and that massive tub just to find the most beautiful pine in the greater New York area.
After a hearty meal and a couple of mugs of hot mulled wine, Brock finally relaxed. The cold outside had been the kind that cut straight through you, and now the warmth of food and home left even him pleasantly drowsy.
There was no sign of danger — Rogers and Barnes looked well-fed, rosy-cheeked, and entirely too pleased with themselves, like a pair of mischievous cats proud of their latest stunt. Their constant, conspiratorial glances made Brock snort softly — if they’d really been hiding something serious, they wouldn’t be acting like this. Which meant he could finally let his guard down a bit… and actually enjoy the quiet before the holidays.
There was something deeply comforting about the supers’ soft, domestic silliness — it settled in Brock’s chest like warmth from a fireplace. Sprawled across the couch right in front of the shining tree, he let that warmth wrap around him… and drifted off to sleep.
He woke to the sound of an excited whisper — Barnes’s voice, bright with barely contained delight.
“Keep it down! Careful!”
“I am careful,” Steve replied in that exact tone of earnest joy that could only mean he was grinning from ear to ear.
“Let me do it!”
“I’ve got it.”
“Steve!”
“Shhh, you’ll wake Brock.”
Brock silently congratulated himself on his foresight — he didn’t move or open his eyes. After a quick glance in his direction and seeing no reaction, the supers returned to whatever mysterious business they had in the pantry, whispering all the way.
“Come on, please,” Bucky whined softly, and Steve sighed — the kind of long-suffering sigh of a man surrendering the impossible. Judging by the sound that followed, he handed something over, because Barnes let out a noise halfway between a triumphant squeak and… was that purring?
Rumlow frowned, unsure what on earth they were doing in there, and slowly turned onto his side, cracking one eye open.
Rogers and Barnes stood in the pantry with their backs to him, leaning close over a box, eyes bright with that shared, secret spark that always meant trouble.
Brock shut his eyes again, thinking.
The scene brought back an old memory — one from his time as the Winter Soldier’s handler. And suddenly, he wasn’t entirely sure Bucky hadn’t just repeated one of his legendary “experiments.”
There was that time, deep in some jungle, when the Soldier proudly carried a live king cobra straight into the STRIKE encampment in the middle of the jungle. In his arms. Like a baby.
Tausig had gone gray right then and there after finding the Soldier in his tent, cooing happily over the venomous creature. As it turned out, the infamous Winter Soldier had apparently just… wanted a pet.
Brock had learned a lot about diplomacy that day — dying because the supersoldier had been denied his new toy didn’t sound like a smart career move. In the end, the cobra was returned to the jungle by a scowling, deeply offended Soldier — but only after Brock promised to bring a kilogram of chocolate, sweet tea in a thermos, and warm socks for the next mission.
That was the moment Rumlow realized that, beneath all that myth and menace, there was a dangerously tactile sweet tooth who secretly dreamed of having a house pet.
And now, lying there in front of the still undecorated tree, Brock knew one thing with absolute clarity — he wasn’t going to chase it away. Whoever — or whatever — his two big, well-meaning idiots had brought home, there was no fighting it. He’d just have to accept the new family member.
The quiet ember of curiosity flared up again — had he guessed right or not? In a single swift motion, Rumlow rose to his feet by the tree, crossing the distance to the mysterious pantry in just two long strides.
“Show me,” he said softly, stepping forward as his partners in chaos wordlessly moved aside.
The box inside — lined with a carefully folded car blanket — was empty.
Well then. Seemed like their guest might actually need the blanket after all.
Brock looked at Rogers and let out a quiet breath, warmth flooding through him. Steve’s gentle smile — the one Brock would have killed for, if he hadn’t already fallen for it — was glowing with such unguarded happiness it almost hurt to look at.
When he turned his gaze to Bucky, he found those bright blue eyes shining with pure delight, perfectly echoing Steve’s. And then Brock laughed — softly, helplessly — when he spotted the tiny tufted ears poking out from under Bucky’s massive arm, accompanied by the faintest rumbling purr.
“Well,” he said with a low chuckle, “at least it’s not a cobra.”
Bucky smiled softly, cradling in his hands a tiny gray kitten — one that had been thrown out into the woods right before Christmas, only to hit the jackpot and get found by the two kindest people Brock had ever known.
“Found yourself a kindred spirit, huh,” Rumlow muttered and quickly slipped out of the pantry before his overly perceptive idiots could notice the stunned joy in his eyes.
He’d wanted a cat his whole life but had never quite managed to have one.
And now… happiness had found him all on its own.