"23rd of December"

Natasha halted when she saw Bruce doing yoga on one of the sparring mats in the gym. Calm music was playing in the background. He held out a hand to quiet her, and she closed her mouth before she could speak. Instead of immediately starting her own stretches, she watched, wary as ever.

It wasn't the Hulk. As long as Dr. Banner trusted her, she was safe from the Hulk. He wouldn't remember it, but the Hulk had saved her life three times in battle since the Avengers were formed. He had not made any threatening moves towards her for some time. Yet, no matter how mild he appeared, it was the undercurrent of danger that reminded her of certain aspects of her job. She remained on alert around still waters. At any moment, after all, the tide could turn.

"Dinner?"

Her head jerked up and she stared at Bruce.

"What was that?" she asked.

"You heard me," he said, and he stood up. "Thanks, JARVIS." The music stopped. "I'd like to have dinner with you sometime. Here, at SHIELD, anywhere you want. We don't know each other all that well, and I'd like to change that."

"We know enough about each other, doctor," she said. "We fight battles together; that is all."

"We live together, Ms. Romanov. There's a difference between colleagues and room-mates, especially when the two are combined. Will you have dinner with me or not?"

Her eyebrows drew together. "I don't think I am comfortable with that, Dr. Banner," she said.

He didn't seem disappointed as he packed up. Instead, he merely shrugged.

"I had to ask," he said. "At least I know now."

"Know what?"

"That you're not interested in being my friend," he said. "I'm willing to move out, if you want me to."

"No," she said quickly. "Usually, when I am alone with a man – or on a date with him – it is because I intend to extract information related to SHIELD business."

"It wouldn't be a date," Bruce said.

"Nevertheless, doctor, I rarely socialise in a one-on-one situation for any reason other than work. This prolonged contact with Thor has helped me progress in feeling comfortable around people I don't know very well. You could… give me some time."

He smiled. His smiles were never big, and often nervous. This one was happy. Natasha relaxed.

"Okay," he said. "When you're ready, come find me."

"I will," she murmured as he left the gymnasium.

Huddled together near the Rockefeller skating rink, Clint looked at Tony.

"You're insane," he said. "You're actually, certifiably insane."

"I can't argue with that," Tony said. "Bruce said the same thing. Mind you," he licked his spoon and swallowed, "he's not that kind of doctor."

Clint chuckled, and Tony watched him eat another spoonful of ice cream. It was one of his less… conventional ideas; but then Tony Stark never came up with conventional ideas. When he'd taken Clint to see the biggest Christmas tree in New York City, they'd stopped off at a twenty-four hour shop. Instead of buying a hot drink, Tony had talked his new boyfriend into having ice cream with him instead. He'd bought a small tub for each of them, and even in this forty degree chill, they held their snacks close. Tony had the JARVIS in his watch monitoring Clint's body, just in case he got too cold and didn't notice it.

Since they were only small tubs, it didn't take too long to get through. Some people stared at them as they threw the trash into a bin; who ate ice cream outdoors this time of year? Fucking Iron Man and Hawkeye, that's who.

"Want to go skating?" Tony asked. Clint shook his head vehemently.

"I'm not going there," he said.

"Reason being…?"

Clint pursed his lips. "Bad memories. I don't want to talk about it."

Tony didn't push the issue; instead, to make his boyfriend (and he wasn't going to stop referring to Clint as his boyfriend, because it was awesome) feel better, Tony wrapped him up in his arms, adding his own limited warmth along with his jacket. Clint slid his arms around Tony's waist and let himself be held.

"I'm glad no one's said anything bad about us being together yet," Clint mumbled into Tony's scarf. "I want to get through the Christmas season without any problems."

"Hey, there. Who'd say anything bad?"

"The press," Clint said. "Fangirls, fanboys. People at SHIELD, people at Stark Industries."

"So, we do what every good leader does. The best defence is a good offence."

Tony felt Clint's smile more than he saw it. "I'm glad I kissed you."

"That right?"

"Uh-huh."

"Want to kiss me again?"

"It'll be my pleasure."

Phil had been delayed by a journey on the Bus, which led to an incident, which led to incident reports. Steve had sent him a message the previous day to tell him to rest, and they could make the brownies when he was feeling better. Phil only had a couple of scratches and an isolated bruise; but his hands – especially his right hand – were aching from filling out forms all day.

Hand well-rested, scratches nearly healed, and bruise fading, Phil showed up at Steve's floor two days before Christmas. Clint and Tony were out – both to the team, and on a date – and it was all fairly quiet. The temperature seemed to have dropped, which made it a good day to make brownies.

Just like Friday, they barely spoke to each other. The three days apart had caused a setback, making it awkward between them again. But they still moved like a well-oiled machine. Phil started with the mixer, creaming the butter and sugar. Steve set out the measured ingredients for him, and Phil only checked the recipe once to make sure that he added everything in the correct order. The stove was already on, making the kitchen nice and warm, and JARVIS was playing music again. It was the Nutcracker suite, which was appropriate for Christmas.

Phil was humming along by the time he added the final ingredient. Steve was more than capable of decorating, so Phil was happy to make the batter. His fingers faintly brushed against Steve's while he poured the mixture into the slice tray, Steve holding the baking paper in place. Phil felt even warmer when he was near Steve, and he wished he could have this all the way through winter. But it was an unreasonable wish.

It would take awhile before the tray had to come out of the oven. Steve had laid out the pieces for the tags, so Phil sat down and began to assemble them. He'd insisted on it, since Steve was working on the cards. That was why he'd been glad to let his hands recover; there was no way he wanted to make any mistakes. Steve had clearly arranged extra parts, just in case Phil screwed up any of them.

He had just finished the fourth tag when the alarm went off. Steve, who'd been dividing up the cookies and candies to package after the brownies were decorated, gestured for Phil to stay where he was.

Phil lost himself in his task, and it didn't take long to finish the rest of the tags. He didn't realise that his tongue was sticking out until he noticed Steve staring at his mouth.

God, that almost-kiss happened over and over in his dreams. He just couldn't talk about it with anyone, least of all Steve. No matter how much he'd tried, he couldn't find anything else to talk about. Thank God for JARVIS and music. Not that Phil had planned to dance with Steve. But it seemed like a good idea at the time.

Then JARVIS played 'Grown-Up Christmas List'. Phil had forgotten that he'd told Steve it was his favourite Christmas song. He'd waited for Steve to react to his tears, and was half-relieved, half-disappointed that nothing happened.

He looked up when a plate was waved in front of his nose. Steve was holding it out, so Phil took it, and watched as Steve bent over and moved the tags out of the way. There were three gingerbread stars, two shortbread shapes, a chocolate chip cookie, and two sugar cookies in the shape of bells. Phil smiled nervously, but Steve just sat down opposite him with his own plate, and held up a cookie in a toast, which Phil returned, bemused. He moaned softly while he munched on gingerbread. Each of the biscuits had turned out well. Modesty aside, they were just like his mother used to make them.

"You will be able to commence decorating the brownies in five minutes, sirs," JARVIS said.

Steve thanked him, but they finished their snacks before they retreated to the kitchen. The icing sugar was already out, and so were the sprinkles in Christmas colours. Steve began on the icing, and Phil lifted the brownie onto a plate. He watched Steve spread the icing on with sure, artistic strokes, and tried not to imagine those same hands cupping his cheeks.

They placed the brownie in the refrigerator, so that it would be easier to cut. In the meantime, Phil noticed Steve absently swaying to the music. He wanted to offer his hand again, but he didn't know whether it would be accepted.

He didn't need to worry. Steve pulled him close without asking. Phil's damaged heart skipped a beat, and he was sure he gasped in surprise. Steve automatically put his hand on Phil's upper arm, so Phil held his waist again. Even though the oven had cooled by now, Steve's hand was warm in his as they shuffled around the kitchen to 'What Child Is This?'. Phil didn't question any of it. Not until after the brownie was cut, everything was packaged, and the tags were signed and tied on.

Not until Steve had accompanied him to the elevator, and they stood before it, facing each other. Phil leaned around Steve and pressed the button. They still hadn't spoken.

"I'll…"

Phil looked up at Steve, startled by his voice. Steve tried again.

"I…" He touched Phil's cheek. "I wish you weren't leaving."

Phil unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth. "I can't stay here."

"Why not? You… you invented the Avengers Initiative. You should be our handler. We need someone. We need you, Phil."

"Steve—"

"Please." Steve tilted Phil's chin up. "Stay."

Phil leaned close, eyes shutting slowly. "I… Steve, I have the Bus."

Steve let go, and Phil opened his eyes again. He didn't know why he'd closed them.

"Well, I'll miss you," Steve said. He took a step back. The elevator door opened smoothly. "Goodbye, Phil."

"I'll be here for Christmas—"

"And then you'll be gone," he said. "I know all this. But now that I know you…" He sighed. "I guess I'll see you on Wednesday."

Phil hated to leave like this, but he had no choice. He nodded once, and then walked into the elevator. He didn't turn around again until the doors were closed.

Fandral observed the life of Midgard through a window in the guest chambers he had taken. Thor continually imposed his presence, despite Fandral's wish to be left alone. New surroundings had not dimmed the pain in his chest, nor were they likely to. It would have been better had he stayed in Asgard; there were few people he could fight here without injuring them severely, were he even of a mind to battle.

Every flash of dark hair or green eyes caused him to think of Loki. He longed to see that smile full of mischief again. Even when Loki had appeared mad, Fandral visited him in his prison, mourned his fall, rejoiced in his life only to lose him once more. He had adored Loki since they were children, and been fascinated by the tricks he performed. Despite Fandral's attempts to lose himself in the beauty of women, Loki never strayed from his mind, and Fandral could never bring himself to bed someone more than once.

There had been many opportunities for Fandral to give voice to his feelings. He was certain that Queen Frigga had known, but she had never spoken of it. Perhaps if he had approached her, she may have advised him.

Now there was no Frigga, and no Loki.

Fandral drifted into a dream-like state, fatigued with life. How long would he pine ere he recovered from this?

As an hallucination of Loki appeared before him, Fandral feared that it would be never-ending.

"You are saddened," the Loki apparition said. Fandral laughed bitterly.

"And you are observant," he said.

"Am I truly the cause of your distress?"

"Your death is."

"Why?"

"Because I longed for you," Fandral said, and he returned his gaze to New York City's skyline. "Since we were but children I have admired you. I came to care for you."

The vision moved closer. Fandral cast his gaze to his lap.

"How did you care for me?"

"I loved you," Fandral said. "I still love you, and I believe I will until I die. Perhaps even in Valhalla my feelings will be unchanging."

The hallucination appeared stricken. "I never knew."

"Then I concealed my secret well."

"If I…" It hesitated. "If I had chosen a different path—"

"I still would love you."

"And if I lived?"

Fandral allowed himself to shed some tears. He was alone; none would see. "I would still fear your rejection. Loki." He choked on the name. "Loki. You were so powerful; how could you have died?"

The apparition bent close, and reached for Fandral's hands. Fandral tensed, wishing the moment would never end. But then the image met his flesh, and disappeared.

With unsteady breaths, Fandral twisted his fingers together and stared out the window once more.

By the way, forty-three degrees Fahrenheit is six degrees Celsius. That's what my desktop gadget says, anyway, and I have no reason to doubt it. When I started writing this chapter, it was nine o'clock at night in Brisbane on the twentieth of December, and that's what the temperature was in New York at that time. No idea what time of day it would have been there. The point is, that's bloody cold. Hence the insanity of eating ice cream.

Only three remaining chapters. I'm having to write everything in advance, so that I won't have to take time out on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day to write.

Please review!