bun snugs

if only in my dreams

merry christmas my christmas celebrating friends. this has a happy ending, i swear

warnings: ptsd, depression

The woman at the gate counter is brunette, her hair pulled back in a snug bun and her demeanor all business when Steve approaches, his flimsy paper boarding pass in hand.

All he wants is to go back to New York. He doesn’t care if he winds up at Stark Tower or his apartment in Brooklyn, hell, he’d even take his quarters in S.H.I.E.L.D. He just wants a hot shower and a bed somewhere familiar; after almost two weeks of being on the move, going city to city to shake hands with politicians, each leaving grease stains on his palm, Steve is finished. He’s had enough of politics and fake people with even faker smiles. He’s tired. It’s been three days since he slept last and even the serum can only do so much when it’s up against abuse like that.

“Hi,” he says to the woman and flashes her a smile that he knows is wan at best. “I heard an announcement saying that the midnight flight to New York was canceled. I’d really like to get home as soon as possible—”

“You and everyone else here,” the woman says and she’s not being rude, just being straight with him. She glances up from her computer and her tired expression softens when she sees him.

Steve shifts, squaring his shoulders, knowing the look is because he’s in uniform. He came straight from meeting a slew of soldiers at the nearest base—because his flight had been delayed, he stayed an extra two hours, only to rush over for the next one to find it’s been canceled, too.

She glances at his name tag—there’s no flash of recognition, which is a small blessing because Steve’s not sure he could handle that with as much decorum as is expected from him right now—and then says with genuine remorse, “I’m sorry, Captain Rogers. As much as I’d like to get you home, every flight into New York is canceled for the next twenty-four hours. I’m sure you’ve heard about the blizzard.”

“Yeah,” Steve sighs, and remembers at the last second to run his hand over his carefully groomed hair and not through it. “I was just hoping… Well, thanks anyway. Sorry to bother you.”

“It’s no trouble,” she says softly and he can feel her regretful gaze on his shoulders as he turns and hauls his duffel back out into the airport general where he drifts to a stop and blinks around, numb with exhaustion.

What now?

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Twas the night before Christmas when all through the house not a creature was stirring, not even a bun. The stockings where hung by the hutch with care,with hopes that St Paws soon would be there. The buns were all nestled snug in their beds, while visions of craisins danced in their heads…
Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night.