"Still gunning for a fight?" James rubbed his hands together before he cupped his mouth and huffed hot gusts into his palms. The syrupy tang of brandy scented his breath.

"It's the right thing to do," said Steve through chattering teeth. But it did feel strange to be on foreign soil on Christmas Eve.

The rest of the Commandos carried on outside the tent, their boisterous laughter and crude commentary slipping in with the winter chill.

Steve felt the iron pressure of James's hip against his.

"Why'd you bring me in here anyway? Fire's our best bet if we wanna keep warm."

James dropped his hands and shrugged with one of those smirks he wore when he had rotten plans.

"Not necessarily."

Steve smiled wryly. "I'm not touching the sauce, Buck. What if we're attacked? Booze doesn't work on me anyway."

"Darn. And here I was hoping to get you sloshed and have my way."

Steve's neck burned. He rolled his eyes. Lips pursed, Steve tightened his arms around his own abdomen to keep the wishful thinking out.

James laughed. "You always go ruby when I tease you like that. Why?"

"You know why," Steve muttered. "Just leave it alone."

"I remember. You were two beers in and I had to carry you home."

"Three," Steve corrected. "And the third one you slid me tasted a lot like scotch."

"I dropped you into bed. And when I threatened to kiss you—"

"James," Steve warned lowly. He despised the memory and the shame prickling through his throat. "Knock it off."

"Giving me orders now? I'm your Sergeant."

Letting some of the tension out of his back, Steve chuckled and shook his head. James was just drunk. And babbling.

Let him.

"So." James slapped his hands against his thick fatigues. "What'd you get me?"

Steve leveled him with a glare.

"Aw, come on. It's Christmas. You saying you forgot?"

"We're in a warzone." Steve vigorously rubbed his arms. "I was kind of busy."

"I'm hurt."

"Sheesh. You can have my ration to help your hangover tomorrow morning. OK?" Steve shifted, searching for a warmer spot on the blanket. "Blast, it's cold."

A heavy pause.

"Aren't you gonna ask what I got you?"

With barely enough patience to humor him, Steve cocked his head and looked sidelong at James. He waited.

James pointed up.

Steve followed his finger.

Hanging by a broken bootlace from the top of the tent was a sprig of juniper with white buttons sewn into it.

Steve went stone still before searching James' face for the punch line of his joke. James took that moment to seize Steve's chin and plant one on him.

Steve could taste the cognac, coffee, and candor on his lips. And James didn't let up until Steve started shivering for a different reason.

I cannot tell you all how long I've wanted to write my headcanon origin story of their romance.

Christmas time, a recurring theme throughout this tale, seems like the appropriate time to start.