[A/N] This one was a request from a lovely soul on AO3. There may be more Christmas fluff coming your way soon (there is definitely a MOSAICS chapter dropping this Friday).
Happy holidays, all!
There is a slight possibility he went a little overboard with this.
The thought dawns on him after he takes a step back from the tree and its new adornments. It's a fraser fir — a full, rich green, pulled right out of a cliche holiday film with decorations to match. To accompany the multitude of hanging bulbs were vibrant string lights. He'd spent more time than he'd care to admit perusing Amazon reviews in his quest for the most alluring kind. That quest is how he wound up with enough lights to ornament her apartment, and a remote control to manage all of them. That's not counting the tinsel, the wreath for the front door, the patterned stockings, and the speakers he bought.
So this may be a bit much. How else was he supposed to act, though?
Usually the holidays passed over them without much ado. Holiday spirit was not a dialect they were fluent in. For Natasha, it wasn't something that featured in her upbringing.
When she and Bruce were chatting about their attitudes toward Christmas a week ago, more than slight discomfort surfaced for her. So casually, she revealed her tendency to pursue undercover operations at this point in the year — something that got her away, that often gave her an excuse to miss Christmas at the Barton's. She didn't want to intrude with her trauma and lack of cheer, so she isolated herself.
For that reason, he wanted to do this. He wanted to eradicate the negative glaring at her from holiday window displays, Christmas cards, and commercials for holiday films. At least, he wanted to start that process.
Then this happened.
Now, he's just tinkering with miscellany, passing time until she walks through the door. It's not technically her home — rather a safe space courtesy of S.H.I.E.L.D. — but, for at least tonight, he hopes it will feel like one.
No one's followed her back. She didn't expect them to, but it would betray her training and intelligence if she didn't check before entering her building.
It's not a place she'd pick for herself, but it's modest and — most importantly — safe. The doorman knows her as "Nick" or "Nicki" — short for the pseudonymous "Nicholette" — and takes note of who delivers any packages she infrequently receives. The people who live here don't ask questions, are too invested in the happenstances occupying their own lives to preoccupy themselves with hers. Her apartment's amenities are nice but, in complete honesty, the selling point of this place is its proximity to Stark Tower. At this point, after being with Bruce for nearly a year — after waiting to be with Bruce for several years — she's not ashamed to admit that the proximity to her partner excites her.
It's not exactly excitement she feels when she walks up to a Christmas wreath on her door.
Tony receives the honor of being her first suspect. Then she sees, as she approaches with contemplations of getting him back, a banner strung across the fake vegetation. Across the strip of paper, in a very beloved scrawl, reads "Welcome home."
Seeing that is precisely what gets her heart to thaw in the wake of a mission's mandated impassivity. Part of her wants to take the decor off the door and migrate it inside. Then she reminds herself — the wreath reminds her — that this should be one of the rare places on this planet where she doesn't have to hide.
It stays up, and she unlocks the door.
Her entrance heralds a soundtrack of gentle piano that floats to her from a myriad of directions. Most notable is not the music, not the collection of chromatic lights, not the network of fluffy, sparkling Christmas...decor (there's definitely a name for it). Most notable is the pine tree standing proud in her living room, and Bruce beside it with a remote and his phone in his hands.
The first thing out of her mouth can't be helped, "The Christmas spirit came and attacked my apartment." She smiles so he knows she's all jest and appreciation. Something happy and sheepish grows across his lips, and she walks over, pulls him close, and tastes it with a quick kiss. "Hi," she murmurs, pulling back.
"Welcome back," he says, shifting both devices to one palm so the other can float down her arm, make her feel wholly alive and herself again.
"Glad to see you kept busy while I was gone." A hand rests on his chest — fingers lightly hooked onto his collarbone while she covers his quiet heartbeat — as she gets a better look at her renovated surroundings.
Upon a second observation, little speakers poke out at her from various corners and nooks. The light display extends into the kitchen of this open space — maybe even the hallway to her bedroom. It has her wondering if there might be another tree lying in wait for her somewhere else. Did people usually have only one tree? Clint had once mentioned Cooper wanting a miniature tree for his own room (of course, Lila then followed suit).
She does hope that there aren't presents stuffed away somewhere, mostly because she doesn't have the closet space to do that and because she hasn't gotten Bruce anything. They'd agreed not to partake in any festivities, which included gift-giving. Or so she thought.
"Is it okay?" Bruce asks, prodding her out of a short silence. "It might be a lot, and I'm sorry, but, ah—"
"Why are you sorry?" She latches her gaze back onto him. Until he asked, she didn't have a conclusion about she feels. Reaching one is easy. "This is amazing." This, the decoration, the utter transformation of a space temporarily inhabited — a space that feels warm solely on the nights and days they spend together. This, the incredible lengths he went to — the man has a playlist, for goodness' sake. This, this wonderful gesture of which he is at the crux. She knows him well enough to get his paranoia, but she also hopes he understands, he sees how much this — he — means to her.
Her thumb swipes over the fabric of his shirt, curls a little at the collar so her fingertip can feel his skin. If it doesn't happen soon, she at least wants the evening to end with her head on his bare chest, ear pressed to his heart's haven, his arm pressing her to him. She does, however, want to go along with whatever plans he has first.
"So," she says, "What happens now?"
The small widening of his eyes gives him away before the admission. "Um...whatever you want."
She loves him. He put a myriad of resources into this incredible moment and neglected an agenda. She loves this ridiculous, considerate man.
She admits right back to him, "I don't know what people do on the holidays. Besides endure family gatherings," In the background, the track switches — something with soft crooning. She smiles without a trace of lament, "but we don't have to worry about that."
His chin dips down toward her loose grip on his chest. To it, he breathes a little chuckle. Then, "Um…" Looking for an answer hidden somewhere in this colorful space, his gaze darts around, finally settling on the tree with its tower of illumination. "I actually have an idea."
In a matter of minutes, they end up underneath the Christmas tree. Nat changes — swaps work for comfort — and, in the meantime, he remembers that he's still wearing shoes, then sheds them. From the couch, he plucks a blanket — one that has not moved since their last movie night — and lays it out for him, throwing down two throw pillows for good measure.
Here, they lay. She collects his fingers in hers, and they gaze into a spire of iridescence and variegated orbs.
The talking is easy and the topics wander and roam without direction. When she asks about the forethought and work that went into this, he tells her, and doesn't leave out the part about soliciting Tony for holiday music...which got him a compilation of songs to have sex to. Pepper produced the final product, which they listen to now.
Following the what comes a kindred question. "I have to ask," she says. "Why go to the trouble?"
In a rare moment of complete instinct, he doesn't have to give his answer any thought. "It's not any trouble if it makes you happy." The pillow and weight beside him shift. With it, he adjusts himself so they're face to face. A hand of his trails over the side of her torso, from her chest to her hips and back again. "I didn't want you to...be sad and feel like you had to hide it from everyone."
"I'm not sad." The sentence is simple; the grin pressed onto her mouth and the uplift in her eyes say so much more.
"Good. That's the point." He says, intentions frivolous and light.
Instead of laughing, her smile widens for half a second before she bridges the short distance between them and brings her mouth to his.
The kissing lasts — lips sliding and coalescing, touches fluttering over his neck and scalp, over her waist and back — until the song switches. Neither has any idea what classic Christmas tune it is, and it doesn't cause them any modicum of grief. As the piano and voices play on, they lay under the tree and talk and kiss until they lose hours to the soft glow of the string lights. It's everything either could've wanted out of this time of the year.
They didn't intend to fall asleep there; it just happened. Granted, she did make herself a sort of lullaby when she undid some of his shirt's buttons and rested her head on the skin. Him tugging the blanket edges around them into a partial cocoon didn't help, either.
The door unlocking wakes her into this realization. Her sudden stirring rouses Bruce — that, and the call of, "Alright, Nat. I know you're here and I…"
Through the entrance bursts her best friend, who gapes at her and her partner on the floor. Her groggy gaze with tones of bemusement greets Clint.
"What happened in here?" He asks, whatever notion he had before completely abandoned. "Why are you guys on the floor?"
An eyebrow quirks suggestively as she contemplates a snarky, salacious response. Bruce throws out something first, slurring a little, "Accident."
"Accident, huh?"
"There are different ways to celebrate the holidays." She quips suggestively, not moving from her spot.
He doesn't flinch at that. "Yeah, well, another way to celebrate is with your family," he says. "So get your butts up and get dressed. You're spending the next three days with us — no excuses."
"Wait—" Before anything else gets out, Bruce's skull snaps up and collides with some low-lying branches, causing some bulbs to clink and shake.
"Yep, that includes you, Banner. You're family too."
Of course he is. Anyone who would do this for her, anyone who is as precious to her as he is would count as kin in her almost-brother's book.
She and Bruce wriggle their way out from underneath the tree. While they get ready and pack bags, Clint offers to unplug lights and turn off the speakers (with the remark, "So you guys have surround sound now?").
For the first time, she doesn't dread the swift oncoming of Christmas.