Notes: This is my submission for Feelstide 2012 over on AO3. My prompt was: Steve is all about the Christmas Mass the night before. Special thanks to psalmoflife on Tumblr for helping me out with some details. Happy holidays! As always, I am poor and own very little; certainly not any of these characters. This is for fun; don't sue.
He was in the process of notching another arrow when his cell phone signaled the fourth text message he'd received in as many minutes. He sighed, released the projectile, watched it hit the intended mark, and moved towards the row of benches lining the back wall of the shooting range. Clint set his bow on the bench and dug around in his gym bag until his fingers wrapped around his phone. He was unsurprised to see that all four the messages had come from Phil. With each new message, the threats grew in nature. Clint shook his head and let him know that he was on his way upstairs. Gathering his belongings, he threw his bag over his right shoulder and his bow over his left and made his way to the elevator bank to his personal floor in Stark Tower.
"We're going to be late," were the words that greeted him as he stepped off the elevator.
"Relax, I know what time it is." Phil gave him a dubious look from where he was reading files on the couch, which was warranted, because truth be told Clint was kind of hoping he could hide in the shooting range for the next few hours and skip what was on the agenda for the team. "It's Christmas Eve—you promised no work today or tomorrow."
"You promised not to disappoint Captain America."
Clint rolled his eyes. "You should know better than to trust me to honor promises like that. Don't get your fanboy panties in a wad; we won't run late." Clint really wanted to run late. He wanted to not go at all.
Steve had decided that since they were all going to spend Christmas together in the Tower, each person should get to pick one thing they really wanted to do and the whole team would have to participate. That was on top of Secret Santa between the team and the annual SHIELD White Elephant party. Tony had taken the whole "Stark Tower looks like a Christmas tree" comment he'd made to Pepper months ago seriously and, with the help of the bots, had strung endless feet of Christmas lights in all the public corridors. So much so that the regular overhead lights weren't needed. Bruce had chosen for all of them to go ice skating; Thor desired a mighty feast (like that wasn't going to happen anyway), and Natasha declared there not be any activity before eleven in the morning on Christmas Day. Clint felt his decision was the best of all: he demanded there be a constant supply of freshly baked Christmas cookies available at all times. Between his bottomless pit of a stomach, Thor's appetite, and Steve's sweet tooth, Clint was pretty sure the food budget was going to be seriously in the red for the month of December, but it would be deliciously worth it.
Then there was Steve. His wish was for everyone to attend Midnight Mass with him.
It wasn't that Clint was anti-religion; he just didn't know what to do in a church. He'd never been raised with any religion present, and as an adult found himself to be indifferent. He usually had more important things occupying his thoughts—like when and how he was going to make his next shot while keeping an eye on everyone—than to contemplate whether or not there was a god and what they're like.
He stepped into the shower and quickly cleaned the sweat from the range off his body. By the time he emerged from the bathroom, Phil had changed from his jeans and sweatshirt into his usual suit. Clint used a hand towel to dry his hair while asking, "Do you think Thor is going to be smote when he walks in the door for walking around proclaiming to be a god?"
Phil paused in his processing of tying his navy silk tie to throw his patented "I'm not going to be dragged into this discussion with you" face at Clint before returning to face the mirror.
Clint shrugged and opened his drawer to pull out a pair of black boxer-briefs. He placed his towels on hooks hanging from the bathroom door and sighed. He looked over at Phil in his suit and groaned inwardly. He was going to have to dress nicely for this. Clint owned one suit, and the last time he wore it was at Phil's funeral. Despite now knowing that the casket was filled with a Life Model Decoy (which SHIELD probably exhumed to keep the tech from anyone else) and not an actual body, he still didn't want to wear those clothes ever again.
As if reading his mind, which Coulson probably could, Phil caught his eyes in the mirror's reflection. "Early Christmas present on the bed."
Clint eyes turned and fell upon an outfit laid out for him. It was a charcoal grey suit with a black dress shirt, new black leather dress shoes, and purple and black striped socks. He felt a smile cross his face at the sight of the last item. "Thanks," he responded softly.
Phil shrugged, his expression soft. "We're meeting upstairs in ten minutes."
Clint nodded, already putting on his new suit, which of course fit him perfectly because like Phil would let there be any other option. "I'll be ready, stop fussing."
And he was, with seventeen seconds to spare. They gathered in the common kitchen before heading down to divide up into non-descript black sedans. Happy drove Steve, Tony, Bruce, and Pepper in one, while Phil drove Thor, Natasha and Clint. Clint had been sure that Tony would have flat out refused to participate in something with organized religion, but apparently even he was willing to be respectful of the holiday spirit. And, as Phil told Clint this morning, Pepper was raised Catholic and she agreed with Steve's idea being a nice one. Clint wasn't entirely sure which person Tony was going to use tonight as a means to suck up to most, but he was sure it was going to happen at some point in time.
Natasha rode in the backseat with Clint since Thor bellowed "Shotgun" as soon as car assignments were handed down. Clint received a couple of glares for passing on that particular Midgardian tradition, but his mouth was full of a couple of cookies he'd smuggled from the kitchen and he couldn't find himself to care.
As they drove to the cathedral in Brooklyn that Steve attended when he was younger, Clint leaned over to Natasha, who passed the time by playing Angry Birds on her phone. He contemplated mocking her for it, but knew better. "Do you have any idea what we're supposed to do at this thing?" he asked quietly.
She shrugged. "Never had a need to know before now." His shoulders slumped at the lack of information. "This isn't an op; you'll be fine."
Clint picked at an invisible piece of lint on his new pants. "I just hate being out of my depth," he muttered.
"Isn't that most of the time for you?"
"Shut up."
The two of them remained quiet for the rest of the trip while Thor fiddled with the radio until he found a station that played Christmas carols.
They arrived at the basilica and Clint watched Steve look wistfully over the architecture. "Used to be, this was one of the biggest buildings around," the blonde man said quietly.
The team snuck inside and tucked themselves away in a corner in the shadows, the group of them occupying an entire pew. Clint was sandwiched between Bruce on his left and Phil on his right, who had Steve on the other side of him sitting next to the aisle. Clint was looking up and down the aisle when he felt Phil rest his hand on his right thigh, making him realize that he had been nervously bouncing his leg up and down. He mouthed an apology to Phil, who shook his head with a small smile.
Clint forced himself to take a deep breath. He didn't like being in unfamiliar situations. New places were fine, and even fun most of the time, but at least most of the new locations he visited were mission-based. You could change the landscape, but the routine remained the same. He didn't know the procedure here, and it was making him uncomfortable. Phil picked up on his nerves—not that it took much effort—and leaned over to whisper in his ear. "Relax. There's not going to be a debrief on this. It's not a test. Just sit back and take things in."
Clint nodded and gave him a quick half-grin of thanks. As he did, he caught Steve in his line of vision. The other man was looking around the large, open room with a tiny smile on his lips but sadness in his eyes. Clint took Cap's lead and looked around. Every inch of wall and ceiling was covered in art. He looked at each mural and tried to place the story it told, but only was successful less than half of the time. He looked at the windows and wondered what the room looked like in daytime with sunshine filtering through the stained glass. But for now the hundreds of candles placed all over threw a warm glow that immediately relaxed Clint once he took the time to notice it. He let his eyes drift upwards and couldn't help but pick out a spot or two he would make his perch if the situation were to arise.
The room was crammed with people. The team was initially worried about being recognized and causing a scene, but it seemed that no one paid them any mind. Clint took in the sights and sounds around him. Not all the conversations around him were in English and he was able to decipher bits of what others were saying here and there; despite the different tongues, all the conversations seemed to be centered around the same themes—whether or not they'd get snow, when Santa was coming, and how much longer do I have to be in this fancy outfit. He smiled at a few kids who were looking to be as antsy as he felt.
His focus was pulled back to the purpose of coming here when music began to play. Clint glanced down at the program in his lap, even though he already had the whole thing memorized, just to double check that he knew the order of things—at least on paper. Familiar strains filled the air as the service began. Clint snuck another look at Cap and felt jealous at the smile on the man's face.
Maybe that was why Clint didn't want to come; his Christmases usually lacked tradition. He understood Rogers' need to come here, to experience something familiar, especially around this time of the year. What little Clint could remember about Christmases when his parents were still around weren't always pleasant, and life with the carnies didn't necessarily lend itself to holiday traditions. With SHIELD, he never minded being on assignment this time of the year; he didn't have family to visit and there usually wasn't anyone waiting to exchange presents or share a meal with.
He took in a deep breath and smelled the aromas that had begun to fill the air. He felt his shoulders drop slightly. Clint could certainly see the appeal in this kind of thing. The environment was warm and cozy making the carols that had a tendency to grate on his nerves almost pleasant, and he could make a game of watching the shadows cast by the candles flicker all over the art on the walls and ceiling. Sure there were a few times that he still felt a little lost with all the kneeling and standing, people crossing themselves, and the unison responses from the crowd that were like some secret code he didn't know about. He listened intently to the scripture readings—texts which he usually only heard during the Charlie Brown Christmas special—and during the homily.
Clint was grateful to have Phil next to him. Not only was he sitting there, which after him playing dead for a few months was great enough, but no one was shooting at them. They could just sit next to each other and take comfort in the other's presence. Phil wasn't raised Catholic either—Methodist if Clint could correctly recall a late-night discussion that had taken place in Toronto—but was familiar enough to gently and silently keep Clint from committing any major faux-pas, like when near the end of the service most of the people in attendance rose and began to form a line at the front. Clint tried to rise to join them, but Phil tightened his grip on his leg and gave a small shake of his head. Clint felt his eyebrows knit together in confusion and Phil leaned over to explain that it was for Catholics only, which explained why only Steve and Pepper were the only ones moving towards the front from their group for communion.
Clint let his eyes wander around the room again while waiting. He hummed softly along with the instrumental Christmas being played until he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from laughing out loud. He felt Phil turn towards him at the sudden silence and Clint nodded to their right a few rows ahead where two babies were softly and happily babbling to each other. One wearing a dress with more lace and a fluffier skirt than Clint had ever seen before and the other wearing suspenders and a bowtie of the same material of his twin sister's dress. It was one of the most ridiculous set of outfits he'd ever seen on human beings, and he'd traveled to a lot of places. "Don't get any ideas for mission garb, sir."
Phil smirked, "I'm pretty sure Natasha would make my life a living nightmare if I ever sent the two of you anywhere looking like that."
At the sound of her name, Natasha leaned forward from the other side of Bruce and gave them a look that silently told the men that she demanded to be let in on the conversation. Clint subtly pointed to the babies in question and Natasha looked over and shuddered, which caused Clint to have to bite his cheek again.
Once everyone had returned to their seat, they rose and sang a final carol together. This time the instruments didn't play. There was something pleasing about the unison melody, only voices filling the air. It was nice to felt like you belonged and were a part of something.
The team snuck out before the last chorus finished in order to better head off the crowds and run the risk of being recognized. They stood in the parking lot outside the cars in silence, taking in the cold air and the peaceful environment. It was Steve who spoke first. "I just want to thank you guys for coming. I know this isn't necessarily everyone's thing," he paused to shrug, "but it's part of what I consider to be Christmas and I appreciate spending it with you." There was a chorus of stammering feet and quiet, brief words of encouragement in response.
"And now it's my turn," Natasha declared once things went quiet again. "Back to the Tower. No one is waking me up before eleven."
"It's really not a good idea to wake her up if there's not an emergency," Clint commented. "I've got a few scars to prove it."
"Do you want some new ones?"
"No, ma'am."
"Then get in the car. I'll drive us back."
The words were barely out of her mouth before Thor let loose a shout of "SHOTGUN!"