"I can't believe Pepper put us up to this," Tony grumbled to Bruce as they awaited the others. "When I give a gift, I want everyone to know it was me."
"I don't think there will be any doubt about yours," Bruce rejoined. Tony grinned and raked his hair back, closing his eyes. His manic suit-rebuilding had drained him more than he realized. Bruce fiddled with a pencil as he squinted at his Sudoku book.
"Is this where we meet?" asked Steve as he entered. Tony nodded without opening his eyes. Steve sat next to Bruce and immediately pointed out the number his puzzle was missing.
"One more pun, Clint, and you're getting a short circuit in your quiver for Christmas," warned Natasha as she strode into the room and perched on the table. Clint made a puppy face and straddled a chair, resting his chin on his brawny forearms. Pepper strolled in behind them, swiping away on her ever-present work tablet.
"You couldn't leave it for five minutes, Pep?" Tony complained.
"Says the man who sent a suit of armor to kiss me when I got home from work last Christmas," she told him pointedly. "I'm not working right now. This is for our name shuffle."
"Why don't we just draw names out of a hat?" Steve asked.
Pepper shook her head. "It'd be too easy for certain people to cheat that way. I'm letting JARVIS handle it, because I know he's impartial."
"JARVIS'll do whatever I tell him," Tony reminded her.
"Not if I wrote this program."
"So is this everybody?" asked Clint.
Pepper nodded. "It's all set up. Just approach the screen and place your left index finger in the marked region while looking at the white box. Close your eyes, and the name of your person will appear on your retinas for less than a second."
Steve whistled. Tony swaggered up first to receive his assignment. It made him chuckle.
"I am officially worried for all of us," Clint muttered.
"This is gonna be so good," exulted Tony as the archer took his turn.
"I wish Thor had known about this," Bruce told Steve.
"Yeah, and Sam. Sam's family had a medical emergency, so he took off early to spend Christmas with them."
"What about Rhodey?" Pepper asked Tony. Despite his wisecrack about military service being akin to indentured servitude, Steve was too lost in thought to rebuke him.
"Your turn, Cap," said Bruce as he returned from the screen.
"Hmm? Oh, right." Steve drifted over in the same state of distraction, but the name he received brought him back to reality. Clint, who was the closest, thought he heard a "heh-heh-heh" escape the captain. Natasha went last, but her expression bore no trace of wickedness as she resumed her post. She simply looked thoughtful.
"All right! Happy shopping," Pepper wished them as everyone began to disperse. Natasha vanished into a quiet corner once she was out of the room and reached for the phone in her pocket.
Commencing operation. 4:00 under the flag.
—
Steve furrowed his brow as he stared at the book in his hand. This one didn't seem right either. He weighed it casually, deciding to keep it with him as he browsed the bookstore further. A familiar goatee and pair of sunglasses turned toward him as he rounded a shelf.
"Stark!" Steve gulped and rammed the book inside his jacket. "What are you doing here?"
Tony gave him a strange look. "Shopping."
"We can't shop in the same place!" hissed Steve.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I must have missed your bald eagle parked outside."
Steve rolled his eyes. "For Pete's sake —"
"You know what, though, there was a refrigerator truck out there. That should have tipped me off."
"Don't you just have JARVIS place an order whenever you want something?"
"Well, this seemed like a special occasion."
"You're certainly dressed for it," Steve quipped, eyeing Tony's quasi-homeless garb.
"Likewise, Grandpa."
A tap on the shoulder brought Steve face to face with the glint of a security badge. "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave. A customer saw you shoplifting."
"Shoplifting? Oh, the book!" Steve withdrew his hand halfway from his jacket. "Stark, look away."
Tony obliged, taking with him the most infuriating grin he was capable of.
"Ma'am, we're both part of a Secret Santa, and I didn't want him to … never mind. I'll leave."
"Well, now that I know you're shopping for me, my work here is done," Tony called as he sauntered away.
Steve sighed, gesturing helplessly at the book as he handed it to the security guard. "Well, at least he shouldn't be following me around anymore." He smiled. "Have a nice day."
—
Clint tucked his hands into the pocket of his favorite hoodie, his head low as he pounded the pavement. His shopping philosophy was simple: food for guys, gift cards for ladies. When in doubt of their tastes, get 'em coffee. He was glad he'd left behind his hearing aid as the madness of holiday shopping thickened around him. This way he could concentrate.
A screaming child came within earshot. He sighed. Forget about concentrating. His mind began working automatically.
Barton here, reporting a possible distress call. Sounds 30 feet away; current hearing loss puts it closer to 15. Sharp-featured woman, pudgy figure, straight black hair, nondescript clothes, at two o'clock. Child, female, roughly 2 or 3, resisting placement in back seat of car. Probable causes: they have just left nearby toy store, as evidenced by bag on woman's arm; overdose of Christmas candy; missed naptime. Orders: increase speed and do not interfere.
"Stop this right now! This is the wrong attitude!"
Passing scene. Do not make eye contact. Do not … she saw me. Child's eyes are unusually wide, face white. Afraid, not angry. Probable causes: low stock of favorite toy; needs a restroom; troupe of clowns approaching at three o'clock. All seem insufficient. Orders: assess and report.
"Помогите мне!" the girl shrieked, tears choking her voice. "Помогите мне!"
Clint stopped cold.
"No, we are not getting you any candy right now!" the woman was shouting.
Perpetrator knows no Russian.
Next thing the woman knew, there was a knee in her sacrum and a fiberglass car roof crushing her cheekbone. A whiff of stale coffee hit her nostrils as a dangerously calm voice muttered in her ear, "She wasn't asking for candy."
"No, you don't understand, we just adopted her — I can show you the papers —"
Child has eluded perpetrator, moving out of sight at five o'clock toward toy store and bank. Perpetrator attempting to grab child's hair. Has only removed wig. Child's head has been poorly shaved. Male accomplice emerging from vehicle — nondescript clothes, snub nose, fit and wiry. Male now pursuing child. Be advised, I have no backup.
Clint slammed the woman's head into the car one more time and left her to puddle on the sidewalk.
Female incapacitated. Male has acquired child and employed headlock. Child's airway is compromised. Assume submissive stance. Clowns at three o'clock, doing absolutely nothing.
"You never saw this," the man growled as he backed rapidly toward the car.
"I have backup positioned to respond. Let the girl go."
"I don't see any backup!"
A bright reflection appeared on the man's face, flashing back and forth across his eyes. He blinked and appeared to have trouble focusing.
Permission to disable. … Permission granted.
After a couple of good kicks, the man was clutching his abdomen. The little girl slipped out of the crook of his arm and hit the concrete, heels first. Two clowns hurried her a short distance away; two more joined Clint in overpowering his opponent. A moment later, they had the man laid out beside his partner.
"I'll call the police," said a female clown with a neon yellow bob and exaggerated tears painted on her face.
Child wants to return to toy store; says her mother is there. Store lockdown in effect. Attract attention of employee nearest to door. Keep child in sight.
Two cruisers arrived within 45 seconds of each other, one responding to the yellow-haired clown and one to the toy store.
Officers deploying. Child with mother. Resume original mission ASAP.
While the officer in charge spoke with the little girl's mother and the store manager, Clint edged over to the clowns. "Who distracted him?"
"That was me," said a man with tiger paint, flashing the line of mirrors sewn along one of his sleeves and waving a flashlight with the opposite hand.
"Who do you guys work for?"
The tiger clown raised his eyebrows innocently. "Ringling Brothers. You?"
"Uh …"
I don't remember my cover story. Permission to make something up?
"Hey, don't go anywhere," an officer called to Clint and the clowns. "We need a statement from each of you."
Be advised, I will conduct all future Christmas shopping online. Barton out.
—
What do you give someone who appears to need nothing but more hours in the day?
That was the question Bruce Banner asked himself as he stirred his hot cider. He didn't know anyone in this group well enough to give them a gift that he could be sure they'd like. This was stressful. He opened his laptop and tapped the web icon to browse for ideas.
Tony's face popped up instead. "Hey. Can you come down to the lab? I've got something cooking and I need your opinion on it."
Bruce took a sip. "Shouldn't you be cooking in the kitchen?"
"Not that kind of cooking, Doc — wait. Were you just being sarcastic? I'm so proud."
"I'll be right there." Bruce closed his laptop and reached for a pencil to write himself a note for later. He'd just had an idea.
—
"Pepper, could you be any more obvious?" asked Tony as the in-town Avengers (minus Clint) filed into his penthouse lounge. They were still dressed nicely for the brunch Pepper had hustled them off to.
"I had to wheedle some important information from some important people, and I know what an opportunist you are."
"Sweetheart, if I want intel from Fury, I can get into his computer. I don't have to ask."
"Who said it was Fury?" she teased.
"Was it Hill? I've never even seen her carry a computer. I think she just remembers everything."
"So, do we have a plan for tomorrow?" Steve queried. His voice was calm, as usual, but he had unconsciously gripped his knees and leaned forward.
Natasha rubbed a fingernail. "You look like a kid waiting for a new puppy, Steve."
"Hey, Christmas is the best holiday of the year."
"Not the Fourth of July?" asked Bruce. Steve didn't even bother to roll his eyes. Tony leaned out of Steve's field of vision and gave Bruce a thumbs-up.
"If everyone's gift is ready by then, I guess we'll meet right back here after dinner tomorrow."
"Somebody tell Clint," Tony yawned. "Somebody, you know who you are."
Natasha clicked her tongue and got up to go change.
"All right, everyone, you may not see me for the rest of the day. Thanks for the meal, Pepper." Steve dashed out of the room and veered around the corner to the stairs, passing an amused Natasha, who continued to wait placidly for the elevator.
Tony observed, "He's getting solitary in his old age."
—
Pepper looked around the lounge and smiled contentedly. It was as homey as she could make it — none of Tony's angular, abstract decorations had been allowed in this year, and all of the greenery was real. Her soft instrumental Christmas playlist underscored the ambience as everyone swarmed the hot chocolate station at the bar. Steve was guarding his cup jealously from contamination by Tony's flask of peppermint schnapps, claiming it ruined the richness of the chocolate flavor.
"Okay, everybody, get comfortable," announced Pepper as she came last to the seating area.
"You do know that's not a real fire, right, Cap?" asked Clint.
Steve looked up from his nook between the sparkling tree and the animated fire on one of the wall screens. He shrugged. "I can still imagine it feels warmer over here."
Clint smirked. "Aww."
"As your generous host, I nominate Steve Rogers to distribute the gifts," Tony announced.
"Host? Just who put this party together?" Pepper nudged him. "You do it."
"He's the closest one to the tree!"
"And you're in my chair. This way, you don't have to be handed anything."
Tony hauled himself up and took the Santa hat from her with a sullen look.
"This is going on the Internet," said Natasha from behind her raised phone. Hearing this, Tony cast a saucy look over his shoulder, flipped the back of the hat forward so the pompom brushed his eyebrow, and stretched his arms over his head like a Beyoncé backup dancer. Clint slipped off his barstool and shimmied seductively between Tony and the camera. Pepper burst out laughing, nearly dropping her drink, and Bruce massaged his temples and tried not to grin.
"Steve, you know you want to get in on this," Natasha teased. Tony and Clint pivoted and started prowling toward him from both sides. In dismay, the captain pled, "I just came out to have a good time and I'm honestly feeling so attacked right now!"
The dancers stopped cold. "Was that a cultural reference?" asked Tony.
"Yeah, Steve!"
"I told you I'm getting better at using the Internet. Sam's been a big help."
"Good job, Gramps. At this rate, I'm almost ready to trust you with your own Twitter account."
"Nah. There are plenty of people out there pretending to be me, and most of them are a lot funnier than I am."
"Does anyone want presents?" asked Pepper.
"Oh, right." Tony rubbed his hands together and surveyed the base of the tree. "We have … a mysterious white envelope, for Dr. Bruce Banner." He shook the envelope beside his ear before handing it to Bruce, who reached out an arm from his pile of cushions.
"Thanks." He tore it open and pulled out two folded sheets of paper.
"Is it a love letter?"
"Is it a restraining order?"
"It's not a pair of Hulk-proof pants. That was my idea."
Bruce smiled, a little tearily, and refolded the papers. "Wow. This is … really great. Thanks, Clint."
"Aww, you made him cry," said Tony in a baby voice.
"How did you know it was me?" asked the dumbfounded agent.
"It says 'Thank you for your contribution, Mr. Barton.'" Clint grimaced.
"What is it?" Pepper asked.
"It's a donation to Calcutta Rescue."
Everyone applauded Clint politely.
"All right, all right. Next?"
"Ms. Pepper Potts," proclaimed Tony, presenting a parcel of uneven weight. Inside, Pepper found a fragrant cloth bag of loose masala chai, a strainer, and a jar of red tamarind chutney.
"Bruce Banner, you are a lifesaver. I haven't had this kind of chutney since I was in Dhaka. Did you bring these from India with you?"
"Yeah. I remembered you liked Indian food, and I had brought these with me when I left Kolkata. A lot of my patients would pay me in food."
Tony raised an eyebrow. "You mean Pepper could be handling malaria."
"I think I'm safe, Tony," chided Pepper as she neatly repackaged her box.
"All right, but I'm trying that chutney first," he said from under the Christmas tree.
"You wish! You'll eat it all."
"Hey look, this one's for me! Just kidding; we'll wait on that. Mr. Clinton Barton."
Clint tensed up and climbed warily off his stool, as Tony approached with badly-hidden glee and a box the size of a guitar case.
"If it's birdseed, I'm sticking it right where your nightlight used to be," said Clint, pointing at Tony's chest.
"Don't be ridiculous. We've already had one person get their favorite food as a present."
"That would be a lot of birdseed," commented Steve.
Clint deftly unwrapped it and noted the Weta Workshop logo. He was careful to hold the end he was opening away from himself.
"Good grief, who do you think it's from? Loki?"
"I'm not sure you two aren't related somewhere," Clint shot back. "I watched your little sass-off on the security ta…"
His voice evaporated as he pulled out a perfect replica of Legolas's bow and quiver. A handwritten note dangled from the yellow fletching of one of the arrows. He lifted it gingerly on his fingertips and read, "From one archer to another. Much appreciation for your courageous public service. —Orlando Bloom."
Clint stared at Tony, his mouth hanging limp.
"Wow, any gift that even you have nothing to say about was worth every penny. Merry Christmas."
Clint backed onto his barstool and cradled his present. He lowered the bow a little when he saw Natasha rolling her eyes.
"All right. It's been too long since we were all focusing on me." Tony stood, holding a small package wrapped in vintage, candy cane-print paper. "Gee, I wonder who this could be from."
Steve took a sip from his hot chocolate. "Hey! Why does this taste like peppermint?"
Tony glanced up from untying the red ribbon around his present and shrugged.
"You sneaked in and spiked it when you and Barton were trying to get me to join your ridiculous dance number," Steve accused.
"You're free to file a formal complaint, but our offices will be closed until the 27th." He held up the newly revealed gift: an unmarked brown leather book. "What is this, a dream journal?"
"I thought journals were for daytime activities," said Steve. While Pepper explained the concept of a dream journal, Tony started flipping through the thin volume. He slowed down almost immediately. When he got to the end, he went back through it one more time. He swallowed. Then he realized everyone had stopped talking and was watching him.
"So this is what you've been doing by yourself all week," he told Steve.
Steve nodded. "I do my best work when I'm alone. As you know, my first gift idea didn't work out. Then I thought, 'Well, I've got an art degree.' So I came up with that."
"Huh. Well, thanks. You put in a lot of time."
"I didn't know you had an art degree," said Bruce.
"What are they pictures of?" asked Clint.
"Different things," Tony answered shortly, turning back to the tree.
"Unless you tell us, we're going to assume the worst," Pepper warned.
Tony looked at Steve, then back at her. "Do you realize who you're talking about? This guy's never had a dirty thought in his life."
"Well, that wasn't what I meant, but if you took it that way …"
"Do you mind telling us, Steve?" asked Bruce. "I'm curious."
"It's just some things I remember from the Battle of New York. Schematics of the Chitauri speeders and stuff. And some things I remember from the war, like when Howard first showed me my shield."
Tony tossed the book to Bruce. "You can look at it. I've already told you everything I can remember about my life anyway."
"I wanna see that when you're done," Pepper told him.
"I want it next."
"Natasha, while you wait, would you like your present?"
"Sure."
"Right this way, please," said Pepper, rising to lead her out. Tony took advantage of the opportunity to reclaim her chair and pulled out his JARVIS-enabled glasses.
"Are you ready, sir?" asked JARVIS.
"Yeah. Get the suit in position."
"Already done, sir."
"What's going on?" asked Clint.
"JARVIS, bring up the cameras on Agent Romanoff's floor."
The fake fire disappeared. In its place, the whole wall became a grid of security footage from different parts of Natasha's living space.
"There they are," said Steve, tapping the square that showed Pepper and Natasha entering the den.
"Mic on, JARVIS."
"— noticed you paying attention when I told Clint how worn out the soles were getting. When you sent us out yesterday and they were gone when we got back, I guessed you were having them re-soled."
"I could tell you love those boots," said Pepper. "I also needed an obvious gifting scheme to distract you so you wouldn't know what else I did."
"You should have consulted for SHIELD."
Pepper laughed. "Come take a look."
She opened Natasha's bedroom door. The view switched to a bird's eye of Natasha's bed, where a reconstituted Mark 42 was bent over, smoothing out a new quilt.
Natasha stopped dead in the doorway. "That's the pattern … how did you …" She looked at Pepper for a moment. "Clint. He wasn't at the brunch with us, and he's seen the swatch I kept. What made you think of this?"
Pepper explained, "When Tony wanted to bring you all here, I tried to furnish all of your living areas the way you each would like; but a lot of it still looked so bare and functional. I wanted to give you something that felt familiar, so you'd be more at home here."
Natasha smiled, small and sincere. "Thank you."
The men in the lounge looked at Clint.
"It's a Russian calico from Volgograd," he said. "It's the same pattern as a little piece of cloth she carries with her, from a blanket she had when she lived with her adopted father in Russia."
"Only Pepper could pull off something that gutsy," said Tony. "Cameras off, JARVIS." He stowed the glasses away and made a show of stretching out in the chair as the ladies returned.
"The suit looks good as a maid, Stark," said Natasha. "I'll buy you an apron for it next year."
"If you put an apron on one of my suits, I swear I will kick you out. So who's left? Just you, Steve?"
"I guess so," Steve smiled. He stood and stretched, then looked in his mug. "Though I already got one surprise gift in my cocoa."
"It's not like we'd ever be able to tell, unfortunately. I'm curious what you'd be like drunk."
"Probably like you, but with better manners."
"Ah! So cold." Tony stood too and sauntered over to the bar for a refill.
"Speaking of cold," Natasha said in a low tone, catching Steve's gaze and directing her eyes to the lone envelope beneath the tree.
"Can I go play with my new toys?" Clint asked Pepper.
"You'll shoot your eye out, kid," she yawned.
"No, not a stereotypical Christmas quote! Those are my one weakness."
Bruce caught Pepper's yawn. "I think I've done all I can do tonight. Thank you all; this has been a good Christmas Eve."
"Likewise," Tony called. "G'night."
Bruce handed Pepper the book on his way out. She, yawning furiously, passed it to Natasha instead. Clint perched nearby for a look. Steve, meanwhile, was frozen over his envelope.
"What'd you get, Steve?" asked Tony.
"Excuse me," Steve murmured, and fled the room. Tony made a confused face at his back. After a moment, Natasha left Clint browsing the drawings and followed.
He had stopped not far away, his bent arm braced against the elevator doors and his forehead resting on his sleeve. The hand that held Natasha's note beneath his downcast eyes was trembling a little.
"Where did you find him?" Steve asked, looking up to face her.
"He made contact about a week ago. Without giving me any specifics, he said that he remembered me from the Red Room, and that he remembered being able to trust me when we trained together. He asked if I could deliver a message to you without being detected; I told him I'd try. I thought what you'd want most for Christmas would be to hear from him."
Steve looked down, turning the piece of paper over and over in his fingers. "This is the first lead I've had in months. Did you read it?"
"No. I have no idea what it says. But, just in case it wasn't what you wanted to hear, I also got you these." She held out a small box with a pair of vintage Army cufflinks inside. "Now when they ask you what your present was, you'll have a cover story."
He smiled wryly. "Won't Barton think it's a little suspicious that you lured me out into the hall just to give me cufflinks?"
"Do you even have to ask?" she teased. "Clint's no fool. He'll figure out what's going on long before any of them will; but, unlike Stark, he won't say a word."
"Yeah. I probably owe him a thank-you. He seems like the steadiest guy around."
"He only gets that title when you're out looking for your best friend."
"Cover for me?" Steve said as he backed up.
"You got it. I'll tell Stark the shot he put in your drink was too much for you."
"Something believable!" Steve yelled from the stairwell.
Natasha allowed herself an unguarded grin before poking her head back into the lounge to say good night. Clint was studying the last two pages of Tony's gift, nodding with approval. Pepper had fallen asleep in her chair; one of Tony's hands lifted her unfinished hot chocolate to his mouth while the other played with her ponytail. Natasha informed them of Steve's temporary departure and withdrew to her own floor.
The brightness of the new quilt startled her for a moment. She kicked off her shoes and stood beside the bed in the dim room, stroking the fabric with her fingertips as she watched the unsleeping city. She could just see the street below from where she stood. Steve wouldn't go that way, but she pictured him striding against the bitter night wind, still hopeful. His optimism was extraordinary. What was his faith in, that propelled him out on a winter night to extend friendship and sanctuary to someone who had tried to kill him unprovoked?
She thought of his "There's only one God" comment upon first meeting Thor. If he really believed that, Christmas probably meant far more to him than it ever had to her. Maybe that was what kept him going: a sense that even without the Avengers behind him, he wasn't alone.
Leaving the window, Natasha turned her thermostat down thirty degrees and crept under her new quilt, wanting to see if it was really as warm as the blanket Ivan Petrovich had given her at the onset of their first winter together.
It was.