Hello to all! Welcome to the ChristyVerse! If you have no idea what that means, please check out my profile! Otherwise, literally none of this chapter will make sense.

To everyone who knows what the ChristyVerse means, welcome back! I promised you a Christmas Anthology, and behold, I have delivered! Mostly 'cause

I LOVE CHRISTMAS!

And I need a break from end-of-semester insanity. You will know when my semester is over by the increase in posting...

So, this little oneshot is reaching PRETTY far back into the 'Verse. It's sort of like an in-between filler for chapter 16 of We Can Be Found, so you might want to read that chapter for a refresher. Basically, it's Steve's first Christmas with a kid and Christy's first Christmas with a dad, and they're both trying to find the Best Gift Ever, with a little help. This is set December of 2012 (DANG that seems so long ago...).

Also, when I first started writing, I was unaware that APPARENTLY the Marvel TV canon and the MCU canon are not one and the same. But I think that's stupid, so in this 'Verse, they are the same. Coulson's currently parenting-sorry leading-the band of happy misfits (*cough* Agents of SHIELD *cough*) and the gang knows he's alive.

Hope you enjoy.

Christmas is Coming (Will You be There?)

Chapter One: I'll Give the World to You

Clint came down to the Common Floor to find Steve sitting on one of the couches, pen and notepad in hand. A laptop sat on the coffee table in front of him.

"You know, Rogers, there's these things called Word Documents…"

Steve didn't even glance up. "Either give me ideas of what to give Christy for Christmas, Barton, or keep your trap shut."

"Duly noted." Clint sat down on the adjacent couch. "Got any ideas for what you want to give her?"

Now Steve glanced up, looking sheepish. "I…the world? Does that work?"

Clint grinned. "I think 'the world' is a little hard to gift wrap."

Steve didn't glare per se, he just raised his eyebrow and gave his signature "I'm very disappointed in you" look.

"Right, right; help or scram. Uh…" Clint trailed off, trying to think of what he was getting Lila for Christmas. "Doll?"

Steve made a face. "She already has two, how many does she need?"

You'd be surprised… Clint thought, picturing Lila's room. "Okay, maybe doll clothes. I know she's kinda a tomboy, but she does play with dolls, right?"

"Yeah, she does…she'll spend hours in her room, and I'll come in and she's doing God-knows-what…" Steve's face started slipping into an expression of fond parental nostalgia.

Clint cut him off gently. "Focus, Rogers. What about stuffed animals? I know she likes those."

"That could work…oh." Steve stopped. The look on his face was almost embarrassed. "You know those teddy bears they sell, dressed up like us—the Avengers, I mean?"

Clint smirked. "You mean the ones dressed like you? The Captain AmeriBears?"

"Yeah, those. She was lookin' at them when we went out last weekend."

"Sounds like the perfect present for Captain America's daughter."

Steve rolled his eyes, but he wrote the item on his list.

"I guess my problem is that everything seems so…store-bought. Which, that's not necessarily bad, but…"

"Welcome to the 21st century." Clint muttered sardonically. Louder, he added, "You wanna make her something?"

"I think so, but I don't know what."

Clint shrugged. "Why don't ya draw her something? You like art, right? Make her a picture."

"A picture of what?"

"Hey, you're the artist, not me! Just…make it mean something."

Steve nodded. "You're right. I just…I wanna give her everything. She's had a pretty hard year and I…I wanna give her the world. Make sure she's happy and safe and knows that I'll do whatever it takes to keep it that way."

Clint's heart gave a small pang, remembering how he had felt after Cooper was born. He had been terrified of screwing up—not even wanting to hold his new son, for fear of dropping him. Given his less than stellar upbringing, the feelings were understandable, but Laura had eventually talked him out of his fear.

"I know you do." Clint said quietly. "But Steve…you're already doing that. Every day that you're here and real and alive…you give her that." He smiled a little. "'Sides, you gotta save something to give her next year."

Steve gave a matching half-smile. "I know, I know. And Clint…thanks."

Clint nodded. "Anytime." he said firmly.

Steve had been a lot better since Christy's adoption, but Clint knew he still suffered from nightmares and culture shock and the perils of living seventy years out of time. So he had made it his mission from the minute Steve turned up at the Tower to befriend and check in on the younger man as much as possible.

Holidays could be rough times of the year for those who had experienced trauma. But Clint was hoping that this Christmas would prove better for his friend.

So far, his hopes looked to be coming true.

Phil Coulson was sitting in the Common Floor of Avengers Tower as he sometimes did, when he didn't have a mission or a team to deal with. Natasha was currently out, and he was waiting for her to return so they could discuss something.

He was far from bored, however, due to a certain fidgety blonde ball of energy named Christy.

Currently, she was sitting at the kitchen table and staring off into space. Every so often, she would give a loud sigh and flop her arms down dramatically.

The first time was funny. The second and third times were a little annoying. But by the fourth time, Coulson was more than a little concerned.

"You okay, kid?" he asked. "You want your dad?"

Christy twisted around in the chair. "Dad's with Aunt Tasha. I think they're buying Christmas presents." She gave a mischievous grin. "So tonight, I can practice my spy skills and figure out where he hides them!"

Coulson laughed. "So what's with all the sighing?"

Christy frowned. "I dunno what to get Dad for Christmas. I mean, I sorta got him something already, but it's a secret plan with Uncle Tony, so I can't put it under the tree."

"Ah. I see." Coulson lowered his head into his hands in a "thinking" posture. Inside, he felt almost as giddy as a child.

I swear, if someone had told me two years ago that I would be giving suggestions for Captain America's Christmas present…

"Do you have anything in mind?" he asked calmly, his voice betraying none of his inner glee.

Christy shook her head. "Nuh-uh. That's why I was sighing a lot. I know what I wanna give him. But I can't put that under the tree, either!"

"What do you want to give him?"

"The forties!" Christy replied in a "duh" tone.

Coulson bit his lip to keep from laughing. "Yeah…I guess a decade is a little hard to gift-wrap, huh?"

"Super hard. I already asked Uncle Tony if he could build a time machine. He said he's good, but not that good."

Coulson rolled his eyes. I can see him saying that, too…

"Well…" he said slowly. "If you can't bring him to the forties, maybe bring the forties to him."

Christy looked confused. "Whaddya mean?"

Coulson grinned. "I mean, find him something from that time. Like in an antique store or something. There's plenty of those in this city."

Christy's confusion melted off her face. "Oh, yeah! That's perfect! Maybe…maybe I could find some old Christmas ornaments. I think he was upset we didn't have any. He had to buy new ones. I mean, at least I have a couple from Mom, but…he didn't have any."

Halfway through Christy's ramblings, Coulson's mind exploded with a memory.

Smithsonian Museum of American History. Special Exhibit: The Life of Steve Rogers—Captain America.

He'd been in D.C. that weekend. This was several years before the thawing incident. The exhibit had been small, nothing like the grand spectacle currently under construction, but Coulson hadn't cared. It was an exhibit about his hero after all…

"I…think I might be able to get on that." he said faintly.

Christy looked over at him. "Really?! You know where we can find old Christmas ornaments?"

"Better." Coulson pulled out his cell phone. "I know where we can get his old Christmas ornaments."

In the end, it only took about half an hour of calling around before Coulson reached someone pertinent.

"I don't care if they were donated and are legally the property of the Museum! Are you trying to tell me that the greatest war hero of the Greatest Generation doesn't even merit the courtesy of getting his own damn Christmas ornaments back? Not to mention whatever else you've got holed up in your archives! While he was gone, it rightfully belonged to you, but Steve Rogers is alive and well, and he's already had enough stolen from him!"

The woman on the other end hemmed and hawed but finally agreed to release the items—with proper documentation.

"I will be in D.C. in three days. I will have the proper documentation." Coulson vowed. "You just worry about having those things ready. Alright. Fine. Thank you for your time."

He hung up and turned to face a stunned-looking Christy. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing!" Christy said. "Well…you sounded kinda mad."

Coulson smirked. "Bureaucracy is not my favorite. Which makes my work for SHIELD even more hilarious…"

"What's bureaucracy?"

"Basically…a lot of people in suits with a lot of rules and paperwork, most of which seems or outright is pointless."

Christy nodded. "Oookay…I think I understand."

"You'll get it more when you're older."

Christy gave a tiny growl. "I hate it when people say that! I wanna understand now!"

Coulson sighed and moved for a distraction. "Need any more present advice?"

"No…I think I'm good." Christy started to count on her fingers. "Aunt Tasha, Uncle Clint, Uncle Bruce, Uncle Tony, Aunt Maria, you…"

"What are you getting me?" Coulson asked teasingly.

"Not telling!" Christy sing-songed. "Oh, and Uncle Nick. So I'm good."

Curiosity getting the best of him, Coulson asked, "Just what did you get for Fury?"

Christy looked down sheepishly. "Uncle Clint helped me…"

Coulson held up his hand. "Say no more! I can wait 'till Christmas to find out!"

If Clint's involved, this will be hilarious. He knows the kid can get away with murder…

"So, my idea was good?" he continued.

Christy nodded. "Yeah…I think so. You were right. If I can't give him the forties, I'll give him stuff from then. And maybe stuff from now, too. So he knows that it's not all bad now…"

Oh, I think he knows that. Coulson smiled. He found that out on November 5, 2012…

It was late at night, about a week out from Christmas. Christy was sound asleep and Steve was taking advantage of this by sitting at the bar counter on their floor with his sketchpad open in front of him.

"Just…make it mean something."

Steve groaned a little. "Easy for you to say, Barton."

What could he possibly draw that would convey every shade of his newly-awakened love?

He had loved quite a few people over the course of his life: his mother, Bucky, Peggy…

But nothing had prepared him for the all-consuming ache that fatherhood brought—especially coming on the heels of prolonged loneliness.

When he'd met Christy, he'd still been capable of care and affection, but his heart had been atrophied and shrunken ever since…no, even before the ice.

Part of it had shrunk the moment Bucky disappeared forever off that cliff.

Steve shook himself. Bad timing, Rogers! Don't go there tonight! Focus!

He heaved himself out of the bar chair and peeked into Christy's room. Silently, he crept up to the side of her bed and watched her face, which looked pale in the moonlight.

It's not creepy. He thought at the mocking feeling inside him. Besides, nothing could be as bad as the night I woke up and found her standing over me…

Because, as Christy had said:

"I…I wanted to make sure you were still breathing…"

Thankfully, those types of nights had dwindled down to a small handful. But it had still caused Steve a near heart attack.

"You're okay…" he whispered, barely louder than a breath. "You're gonna be okay. I'll take care of you, and you'll be okay. I found you…"

And suddenly, he knew what to draw.

The image slammed into his brain, like some ecstatic vision sent from heaven itself.

Quiet as possible, he snuck out of the room and back to his sketchpad. A memory was playing on repeat in his head.

"I want to be found…that's what I keep dreamin', that this is all a big game of hide-n-seek, and someday, Mommy will come and grab me and say 'found you!' And we'll go home."

And we'll go home…

Home. Because of her, that was what this ridiculously oversized floor in this "big, ugly building in New York" was. A home.

He grabbed a sharpened pencil and set to work, the image taking shape under his careful hand.

First came a closet—that was easy. Then came a small figure, hunched and bent in two, crouched in the darkness.

Last came a man, bending down beside the closet door, arms stretched out wide.

Driven by artist's frenzy as he was, it took him less than an hour to sketch the whole thing. When he finished, he felt a bubble of pride well up in his chest.

Yeah…this is good. This means something.

"Found you." he whispered, brushing pencil dust off the paper. "Found you for good."

Annnd cue the chorus of "awws". Hope that was worth the wait. It was fun for me to go "back to the beginning," as it were.

Tune in next time for "I'll be home for Christmas," Barton family style. (As in, Clint actually makes it home for Christmas...) Until then...

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