A/N: Oh look at that, a Christmas chapter actually out around Christmas!

Just wanted to say, there's no need to worry about Hawkeye spoilers, I don't plan on working any in with this fic (though I'm loving the show).

Also, for some reason I've stopped getting email notifications from FF so imagine my surprise when I saw all the likes, faves and reviews just now. Thank you everyone for all your continued support with this story, even though it is taking years to write - so thank you for your patience too!

I hope you enjoy x

2 December 2020

"Hmm, I never would have picked Ohio for you."

And thus my solitude came to an end; halfway through my umpteenth coffee, flicking through the umpteenth newspaper sitting at the umpteenth café I'd visited since leaving the compound.

It would have been more of a surprise if I hadn't heard the telltale whooshing through the air and the clatter of his landing in the alley further up the street.

"What can I say, I like to keep you on your toes," I said, barely glancing over the top of the paper as Tony slipped into the empty seat opposite and stole a sip of my drink.

"Ugh!" That's disgusting. What did they make it with? Actual dirt?" He asked, oblivious to the waitress cleaning the other outside tables sporting a death glare behind him. "Only spies and old people still read actual newspapers, you know. Total cliché too, by the way. The spy at the cafe with the paper and coffee. Not conspicuous at all."

"It was working just fine until the least inconspicuous face on the planet decided to show up and be all obnoxious."

"My face is not obnoxious."

"Everything that's come out of it so far is." I folded the paper and chucked it on the table. Tony took another sip of what used to be my drink, despite his disgust, and pulled another face. He shrugged when I raised an eyebrow.

"There's a rustic charm to motor oil coffee."

"Motor oil? Is that better or worse than dirt?"

"About the same." His fingers twitched as if he wanted to grab a napkin and wipe the taste off his tongue. "I wonder, what other cliché spy shit do you get up to?"

"None," I said even though that would never put him off.

"Now, why don't I believe that?" He leaned forward, taking up most of the table. "Car chase?"

"Oh come on, that's just a safe bet," I said and the grin on his face turned smug.

"Check," he said, doing his usual thing of using a finger to pull down on another whenever he ticked off a list. "How about...ah, I know, a rooftop chase?"

My only answer was a glare, similar to the waitress', and I considered picking up my paper again.

"I'll take that as another check." And sure enough, he marked it with another finger. "Okay, I'll admit this one's a bit niche. But you ever infiltrated a multi-billion dollar company under an alias to get closer to the unbelievably good-looking and extremely talented CEO? Oh wait. Check."

"Think a bit much of yourself, don't you."

"Joke's on you, I was talking about Pepper," he said. Many things had changed about Tony since I first knew him, his devotion to Pepper was not one of them. "Okay, so one more. Has anyone ever been expecting you."

"Huh?"

"You know, like with the dramatic chair spin and evil voice saying 'Agent Romanoff, I've been expecting you', that sort of thing."

"The whole point of my job is to not be expected-"

"Oops, sorry, forgot I was talking to the spy mistress extraordinaire." He fell back against his chair with his hands up and splayed in defence.

"You watch too much James Bond."

"Bullshit, Romanoff, you're the Bond buff here and we both know it. Anyway, I'll take that as a no. Shame, really. You almost had the full house in cliché spy Bingo."

I turned my head a little, just to get away from the smothering smugness, only to see other heads turning in our direction. People patted their friends or grabbed at their jackets, all rummaged for their phones as recognition trickled through passersby.

"What, no witty comeback? I like your witty comebacks."

I left a tip and stood. Tony followed me with his eyes, still waiting for some sort of answer. When he didn't move I snatched up my backpack, slung it over one shoulder and took my leave of the café. There was a hurried scraping of metal chair against concrete pavement when he finally got the gist.

I shook my hair forward to partially obscure my face. Even though it was the only thing I had to hide behind, it was probably how most people looking back on their hastily taken photos and videos would identify me.

That and the very recognisable billionaire who speed walked after me and grabbed my elbow.

"I didn't mean to offend you with the checklist."

"As if." I said, just about keeping from scoffing. "I'm not in the mood to have my photo plastered over social media."

He looked around for the first time and saw the attention he was drawing. I couldn't imagine a life where it was so commonplace it was barely worth noticing.

"Sorry," he said, "I guess it's one thing for a friend to intrude on your alone time, something else when they come with a whole bunch of prying eyes."

"How uncharacteristically self aware," I said. By this point his hand had slipped through my arm and he pulled at it a little at the minor insult.

"Now now. Retract those claws."

I smiled and guided him round a corner. There were fewer people trying to get a photo. We walked a little and he looked in some of the shop windows. I started to wonder how he found me only to realise, in all likelihood, it was something to do with Friday and satellites and, for my own peace of mind, I'd rather not know.

A few cars rolled by and slowed as they passed. I knew there was a park nearby and I steered us towards it, hoping he took my knowledge of the area as one of my paranoid Natashaisms rather than evidence of a prior understanding of the area. There wasn't much to the park but there was enough for a little bit of privacy.

"So, what does bring you all the way out here?" I asked as we made our way up a gentle slope. In my memory Yelena is riding down on her bike, letting momentum carry her with her feet off the peddles, laughing like she doesn't have the toughest of lives ahead of her. Laughing because she doesn't have a clue.

"I could ask you the same thing."

"You could," I agreed, "doesn't mean I'll answer though."

"Then why should I answer?"

"Well, if you don't you're the one who's wasted a trip," I said and he slowed to a stop in the face of my logic.

"Can you stop outsmarting me, please. It's pretty damaging to the whole genius reputation I have going on."

I patted his forearm and we walked deeper into the park. It was the sort of place that would be pretty in any other season. The colder months didn't coat it in winter magic, just made it look half-starved and fully neglected. It was tatty and worn yet a fondness rushed through me because it still held the echoes of Alexei yelling after Yelena, realising that teaching her to ride a bike was a freedom he ought not to have given to a fearless five-year-old.

"Where you at, Romanoff?" Tony snapped his fingers from the bench he claimed. He seemed to sit a lot more nowadays. Maybe it was his age. Maybe it was his ordeal in space.

"Right here," I said and leant against a nearby tree, not quite yearning for a seat as often as he did.

"Well, maybe you plan on being back at the compound soon?" He waved his fingers through the air as he spoke, attempting a casual change of subject but not quite pulling it off. This was why he'd sought me out. "My Rhodey would be tearing his hair out if he had much to spare." He kicked his very expensive shoes against what was obviously cheap shit concrete, if the cracks and dips were anything to go by. Then he slung his arm along the back of the bench and he would have looked the picture of nonchalance if he hadn't just dragged his sleeve through some bird crap.

"Really Tash Tash? This shithole? Why?"

A couple entered the park. They didn't seem to be aware that the Ironman was about because they made their way without looking around, not even coming close. I followed them with my eyes and noted the smiles they wore.

"I can't tell if it's beautiful or ugly."

"What, this park?"

"Humanity," I said, wondering where these words were even coming from.

"It has to be both. That's the only right answer, right? The beautiful parts of humanity are only beautiful because they're so different from the ugly parts."

"My whole life I've only ever seen the ugly. Even after I defected, the American government wasn't exactly enamoured with me. Neither were most of my fellow Shield agents. But I kept fighting. Still do. And I'm not sure I know why.

"And then I see all these people, you know. Doing the hardest thing they can do after losing what they have. Living. And I think maybe - maybe it isn't so ugly after all."

"Is that why you're out here? To find an answer to some existential question no one's ever yet found an answer to? In Ohio?"

"Guess I just needed a reminder."

"Of what?"

"Why I'm doing what I'm doing."

"And, I repeat in all seriousness, you thought you'd find that in Ohio?" He eyed me over the top of his glasses as I pushed away from the tree and finally joined him on the bench. "Did you find it?"

"I think so."

"Good," he said, "because I think I speak for all of us when I say don't give up. Don't lose that hope of yours. It's gonna make a difference one day. If anyone's stubborn enough to find a way it's you."

I rested my head on his shoulder and he stiffened ever so slightly, which I let him get away with because this was a closeness I usually reserved for Steve and Clint. I was surprised myself. "Us. If anyone's stubborn enough it's us. We'll do this as a team. All of us."

"And here I was hoping it wouldn't take much effort. I don't know if I'll be up for it."

"Let's see what you say when the day comes," I said. "And Tony."

"Mmm?"

"Never call me Tash Tash again."

"Only if you come back home without delay."

"You do realise you were the one pushing me to take time off."

"I know it's just-"

"Rhodey, yeah, I know. But he is a highly decorated individual who happens to know how to cope in some of the most high-pressure situations possible."

"Actually I was gonna say I was worried about you. It's been weeks. Christ, it's a whole new month. And-"

"What?"

"Have I ever told you about that first Christmas post aliens in New York?"

"You mean when you told the whole world your address and invited terrorists to blow you up."

"Yep, that's the one."

"Surprisingly, not in all that much detail."

He hummed and took a moment to think before speaking again. "What I saw through that portal wormhole thing, it wasn't good. The kinda thing that leaves you sleepless and shaking. You know, makes it hard to fully interact with the world around you. And I did what I did when I knew I was dying; I ignored it, didn't tell anyone, waited for it to go away by itself. Well, at first I didn't even know what it was."

"How did you figure it out?" I asked.

"Jarvis," he said.

"How'd you get past it?"

"Not the sort of thing you get past. Sometimes things happen and it just changes you. Nothing you can do about that except accept it."

"Easier said than done," I sighed.

"Yeah, it is. It was odd for me, you know. Coz I'm just me. You and Steve, you've seen conflict, been in it, a part of it, right in the thick of it. Have seen some crazy things, some might say disturbing. That was never my life. Then I was kidnapped. Then Stane was a total traitor. Then the thing that kept me alive started killing me. Then New York was attacked and not just by aliens. By the World freaking Council with a nuke to take the city out.

"And it was one thing after another after another and I spent every day on the edge, worrying about what was coming next, worrying that I couldn't do anything, until my body decided to let me know how unhappy it was. And that was just over the course of a few years. I can't imagine what it must be like for anyone who's spent their whole life like that."

As well as aches and pains, it seemed Tony had picked up some wisdom with his age. And it did surprise me a little to know he may have spotted something about my behaviour on Halloween.

I looked up at the trees that hung over us. The branches criss crossed in a complicated pattern that might have been mesmerising if they still had their leaves. Instead it was just dull bark and even duller clouds above. I didn't know what to say to Tony's admission and I wasn't totally sure he even wanted me to say anything. Just wanted me to know he understood.

"I was thinking about heading back tomorrow," I said at last, which was a truth even if I hadn't decided completely, "never meant to be away this long."

"Too many ghosts to lay to rest?"

Yelena's abrasive bark of laughter rang through my head.

"More like ghosts refusing to rest."

He nodded as if he knew exactly what I was talking about. A sort of absentminded action because his always busy mind demanded his body be busy too. Though they were hidden behind darkened lenses, I knew his eyes were darting here and there, taking in everything about the park.

At some point he started humming and I was jolted out of the park and into a room where the sun was shining through the window and bounced off Yelena's golden hair. She was sat cross-legged in the middle of my bed, headphones over her ears and humming loudly.

I watched as she started prodding at the buttons of the cassette player and frowned. She didn't notice me until I sat beside her and took it from off her knee and got it working again. She scooched under my arm and pressed one of the headphones to my ear. A familiar intro sounded out and I was torn between groaning and grinning. But we spent the afternoon hunched together, listening to the tape she liberated from the car so she could learn the words.

Over and over until Melina called us to dinner.

Afterwards, Yelana sang it every day. Until she didn't.

Until there were days, weeks, months, years until I heard it again. The original, sure, but not her slightly out of tune, mashed together cover. Not the version that mattered.

"So bye-bye, Miss American pie..." Tony sung under his breath then went back to humming and I laughed at the ridiculousness of me knowing the lyrics better than him.

"What, not a fan?"

"Never used to be."

Until it seeped under my skin. Until I grew fond of it. Until even hearing his butchered rendition felt like finding a piece of home.

3 December 2020

It was late when I got back.

The return journey didn't take as long but I still made a day of it, searched out the tackiest souvenir gifts I could find for everyone currently earthbound.

The compound, of course, was surrounded by the night but it was limned in the faint glow that usually appeared when I worked late. I pulled into the garage, a little bit of dread swirling in my stomach. A silly sort of dread that had never bothered me before and it was further proof of what Tony said. Sometimes things happen and it just changes you.

Ohio, Shield, the Avengers. All things that happened, all things that changed me.

Case in point: me idling on the edge of the property, gate closing behind me, and worrying about the reception I was going to get as soon as I entered the building just because I may have left Rhodey in the lurch.

Fifteen-year-old me would have been mortified.

I eventually did pull into the garage.

"Good evening, Director," Friday said a few milliseconds off immediately, "it's good to have you back."

"Thanks, Friday," I said, almost taken aback by how much I missed her voice, "did I miss anything?"

"You missed many things. Nothing worth bothering you about if you wanted to go sleep."

I parked up the bike and slipped off, stretching as I went. "Sleep is tempting," I said knowing that despite my day spent travelling all sleepiness would disappear as soon as my head hit the pillow, "but I'd better check in with Rhodey first."

"As you wish, Director, he's at your desk."

I grabbed my bag and went to get the reunion over with.

Slumming it in reality left me with a disorientated feeling as I returned to the world of the compound via the lift and corridors.

I went to open a door, Friday already had it open.

I'm halfway to pushing a button in the lift, and it's already lit up.

I decide I want a coffee, there's already one waiting in the kitchen.

My life had gone back to automatic and it was going to take a while to catch up.

When I finally reached Rhodey he was nodding off in the chair. His head was drooping, lolling from side to side in the heedless dance of someone fighting the losing battle against sleep. Like Goldilocks caught red handed by the bears, if she was a workaholic instead of a petty thief.

I couldn't even say he looked peaceful. The bags beneath his eyes were more pronounced and there were a few wrinkles peeking through. I placed my newly acquired coffee on my desk. He needed it more than I did.

As I watched, his whole body shifted forward and the momentum shocked him awake. He blinked a few times, over the top and forceful as he tried to make sure he wouldn't drop off again.

"You look like you could use a holiday," I said and his confusion turned to delight when his eyes focussed.

"You don't," he said around a broad smile, then he was out of the chair and hugging me almost as quickly as it had taken Friday to say hello when I rolled in.

"How's it going here?" I asked when we pulled away. "Seems like it's not all that riveting."

"Seriously? You're back for five seconds and already doling out the sarcasm."

"I'm refreshed and my sarcasm levels are fully restocked."

"Okay then, let me try a different tact," Rhodey said, looking a hell of a lot more alert than he did a few moments ago, "Seriously? You're back for all of five seconds and already diving into work."

I smirked. "No, just pretending I give a crap. You know, proper conversation etiquette."

"Of course," he shook his head, "walked right into that one."

"I refer you to my statement earlier in the conversation regarding restocked sarcasm levels."

He just grinned, though it may have been a grimace, and caught me up on a few things. Nothing major crept up, which I guessed by the lack of anything in the news. Apparently a few eyebrows were raised around the team when he started taking my calls. No one believed I was willingly taking time away, though Rhodey's cool and calm nature seemed to reassure them. And Steve stepped in to help just as I said he would.

"It's been tough," he said, wrapping up, "I have a call with Nebula soon, otherwise I'd be in bed now. How do you manage to pull the late nights?"

"Insomnia," I said without missing a beat and then nodded at the desk behind him, "but coffee helps too."

"Ah, thanks," he said and took a long sip.

"Do you want me to stick around for the call?"

"Nah, it's alright," he said, closing his eyes against the caffeine entering his system. "It's really good to see you Nat, and not just because it means I get to go back to my normal duties. I missed you."

"You big old softy," I said then added, "missed you too. It's been an odd few weeks."

"Wanna talk about it?"

I didn't need to look at him to know it was a genuine offer. With Rhodey it was always a genuine offer. What drives people to be so kind? I don't think I would ever fully understand that. "Nah," I said, echoing him from earlier, "it's okay."

And it was. He didn't need to know I'd used the past few weeks to start processing certain things. And I didn't need him to know either. As kind as Rhodey was I don't think he was ready for the sort of burdens I could place at his feet if I chose to.

"Well then, I figure at least one of us should get some sleep," he said and pulled me into another hug, "you're gonna need it if you're coming back to work tomorrow."

I nodded and reached into my bag. "Before I go, I have a little something for you." I tried to hide my smirk as he inspected what I'd placed in his hand.

"What the hell is it?"

"That, my uncultured friend, is a War Machine bobble head."

"God, that's awful."

"Isn't it. I saw it and just knew it would look right at home on your desk at whatever boring political place you're at now."

His laughter followed me out of the room and I stood in the lift feeling stupid for the nervousness I entertained not even half an hour before.

The door to my quarters slid open and the lights were already on, warmth filtered in courtesy of Friday. I found my phone where I left it on my bedside table and made a note to ditch the burner and enable Friday in my bike helmet again. I stuck the phone on charge and headed for the bathroom.

There were messages waiting when I came back. Scattered across the time I was away. Some were reminders about grocery deliveries, some were from the travelling members of the team and Bruce checking in. Guess me not replying didn't help Rhodey out much. There were a few from Tony, too.

Be free, Rusty, be free. Dated the day I left.

Be free but don't be rude. C'mon, don't ignore me. Dated a couple of days after that.

Ooooooooooooh, I get it. You don't have your phone do you. Geez, paranoid much. Time stamped just a few hours later.

On the off chance you do have your phone and you are just ignoring me, heads up I'm hunting you down tomorrow. Unless you let me know you're ok, then I guess I won't? Who knows, I'm so unpredictable even I don't know what I'm doing day to day. Anyway, see you tomorrow, Rusty. Or maybe not... From just a couple days ago.

I smiled as I typed back. Thanks for the warning, I guess.

The rest were from Steve, who knew me well enough to know I wouldn't take my phone with me.

Heard you headed off. Thought you didn't want to? Take the time you deserve. Speak when you're back. Also from the day I left but then there was one for every day since. Each one with a similar sentiment that might be cheesy or repetitive from anyone else. It surprised me he cared enough to do it, and maybe it shouldn't have because he was the same man who cared enough to stay by my door even when he didn't know I was listening.

I'm back. I tapped and paused because it was difficult to know what to say to such a deluge of texts. Thanks for the light novel. Think you were right about time. See you Saturday?

I lay there, alert, for a few seconds just in case I'd caught him before he'd gone to sleep but nothing came through. and that was fine because I wasn't sure I had much conversation left in me anyway.

When it was clear he wasn't going to reply my mind wondered. Over the trip, over the ghosts still stuck in my head even if they were surrounded with much less guilt, over the rooftop meeting with Clint and all the things that had happened since Thanos disappeared through his portal with a charred arm. It wondered through all of that and only settled on my chat with Tony yesterday and the description of everything he felt in the aftermath of the wormhole over New York.

"Friday," I called from the comfortable protection of my duvet, "what happened to me on Halloween?" I cringed a little at my words and my voice and the desperation and weakness I heard in both.

"All your readings suggest a panic attack, Director."

There wasn't a wave of relief at hearing it but neither did vehement denial jump to my tongue. Just a sense of bewilderment because I'd had them before but never like that. I mulled the words over in my head and I let them settle

A panic attack.

Huh.

9 December 2020

My breath frosted the air, the December chill well and truly settled in.

Apparently, stepping out of the shadows was considered an aggressive and scary way of greeting someone. So I made an effort to stick to the pool of artificial light.

It was easy to see the delivery van make its way up the road, the headlights carved through the darkness and the engine cut through the silence.

"Ah, it's you," the driver said when he stepped out from the vehicle, his voice sounded tired and he lifted up his cap to scratch at his forehead, "thought I'd offended you or something."

"My skin is pretty thick, you'd have to try harder," I said. "Sorry, I didn't catch your name last time."

By this point he was already in the back of the van gathering whatever was on the order list. "It's Aaron," his said and followed his voice out with totes in tow. "Seems like I didn't really catch yours last time, either."

I couldn't tell if it was mischief, defiance or a little bit of fear sparkling in his eyes when he finally looked at me. Either way, he hesitated like before, crippled by the idea he'd said too much.

"Ah," I said and drew the moment out just to test his nerves some more, "let me guess, Rhodey gave it away."

He peered over the totes at me with narrowed eyes, dropped the handles so the trolley clanked against the ground and folded his arms. "You could have warned me."

"About...?"

"War Machine. The Colonel. James Rhodes. A heads up to give me time to tone down the fan boy would definitely have been appreciated. He probably thinks I'm a dumbass."

"He did mention a dumbass," I said and smirked when his features slackened, "but I was ninety percent sure he was talking about Tony."

Aaron's cheeks reddened a little and I tried to put myself in his shoes. It was a tactic I employed often since defecting. I had to go all the way back to the first time I met Alexei to find someone I was even a little bit in awe of meeting. He was the Red Guardian, every child in Russia knew about him. It was impossible to not be a little bit star struck. Even then, it was a mild case, anything stronger and the Red Room would have found a suitable punishment.

"So I've made a fool of myself in front of two Avengers now. Good going Aaron."

"You haven't made a fool out of yourself at all."

He raised an eyebrow at me. "Oh, is that right, Natalie Rushman."

"In my defence, Tony was the one who booked the delivery."

"Never corrected me though."

Rewind a decade or so and I would have laughed at the idea of explaining myself to a teen in a high viz vest and a backwards cap over a grocery order that no doubt included copious amounts of peanut butter because Stark thought he was a funny guy. And yet, there I was, doing just that and it didn't feel as ridiculous as I might once have imagined.

"With my name comes my reputation," I said, "sometimes it's nice not to have to carry that around."

He paused and chewed on what I said, hefting the trolley back onto its wheels and waving away my offer of help. It was only when we got to the doors that he spoke again. "From where I'm looking your reputation isn't bad. And even if it is, what does that matter? A reputation is just based on what people think they know and life's better when you don't care to know what they think."

"That head on your shoulders is far wiser than it should be at your age."

"Proud to say that's not the first time I've heard that," he flashed me a grin as we crossed the threshold. "Now, same place as before, Ms Rushman?"

16 December 2020

The only light in the gym came from outside.

Not moonlight. The orange glow of the security lights edged around the building. They created strips of luminescence gilded by shadow.

A patchwork I danced through.

Shoes off

Hair loose.

No music, just footsteps and heartbeat and breath.

I did it because in that moment I couldn't imagine not.

Madam B thought dancing kept me imprisoned. I knew it helped break me free.

There was nothing balletic about it. It was impromptu.

A hop. A spin.

Arching back. Extended arms.

Whipping the air. Caressing the air.

Reactive as my feet flinched from the cold floor and sweat dripped down my face and I sucked in breath.

Hair clawed at my eyes and into my mouth and nose and unlatched itself when I span and span and span, again and again and again.

I leapt through the light and the dark and weaved my steps together like I knew them all along.

Maybe I did.

I stopped only when I couldn't breathe anymore.

Sprawled out on the floor looking up at the high ceiling sheltered in shadow.

It could have been the night's sky.

"Are you okay, Director?" Friday asked from wherever she lurked.

"Right now?" I said with heaving chest and huffed breaths and aches creeping into my muscles while sweat dampened my hair and clothing and a demanding sort of tiredness seeped into my eyes. "Yeah. For the moment."

19 December 2020

Steve kept sending me photos of his Christmas tree.

He thought he was being subtle, and he was...about as much as the bright lights and tacky ornaments on his tree were.

When he thought that was flying way too low under the radar he asked when I was planning on putting my decorations up. When he refused to take no for an answer I said I'd think about it. And anyone with two brain cells to rub together knows that's code for 'fuck off and leave me alone it ain't happening.'

"Where are your decorations?" He asked when he popped round for his weekly visit.

Apparently Steve didn't have two brain cells.

"Exactly where I want them to be."

"You said you were gonna put them up." And I swear he almost pouted.

"No, I said I would think about it."

"It's like Natasha went on holiday and the Grinch came back."

"Hmm, I have been accused of having a heart two sizes too small."

He laughed, looked around and frowned at the lack of any acknowledgement to the festive season. "Why don't we put the tree up at least?"

"What's the point, I'll only have to take it down again in a few days. Anyway, I'm not gonna be here. I have a mission."

He sighed but gave up the argument. "At least put up the stockings."

I wanted to say no, the last thing I needed was to stir up even more ghosts. But there was a pleading look in his eyes and the more I thought about it the more it felt wrong to not represent them in some way.

"Fine," I said with as much enthusiasm as I could muster, which was very little.

"Where is your Christmas spirit Romanoff?"

"Right now the only spirit I'm interested in is vodka."

We walked to the store cupboard together and sifted through the boxes of decorations. Even I had to admit they looked forlorn and neglected in their boxes. Almost like a Christmas cemetery. He pulled some of them out and tried to persuade me to put them up. I pushed him out of the way when I spotted the stockings. I had a sneaking suspicion he'd been trying to hide them so he had more opportunity to sell me on the benefits of decorating, because 'tis the season and all that crap.

I pulled the stockings from the box and Bucky's was on top. Steve's cheer faltered a little; the smile a little more fixed, eyes a little less focussed but he rebounded effortlessly.

"You know, maybe you want to take this one with you?"

"Nope," he said, "they all belong together and they all belong here."

We headed back to the office and hung the stockings along the shelving as had become tradition. Their names floated in the room and I wondered if Melina ever hung any up with our names on in her home outside of St Petersburg.

She was a Widow. Sentimental wasn't in her vocabulary .

Then again, it shouldn't be in mine either, but there I was.

"So," he said to break the silence that had settled over us, "you're working over Christmas?"

I took a moment to readjust Wanda's stocking and wipe some imaginary dust from her name. Seeing it made me feel guilty for not putting it out earlier. "Yeah, figured I owed Rhodey after disappearing on him."

"Or, you know, neither of you need to work at Christmas. The great thing about being in charge is you get to decide that." I levelled him with a glare and he sighed before collapsing onto the sofa. It groaned dangerously under his weight and he threw his arms across the top and his head back so he was looking up at the ceiling. The lights were already on and he blinked against the brightness. I dropped into an empty spot beside him, rested my head against his arm, and prodded his side.

"Why are you stropping?"

"I'm not. I don't strop."

"You kinda do. It's annoying."

He sighed and used his free hand to rub his eyes, channelling his frustration. I smirked because it was always a little too easy to get under his skin.

"One holiday isn't going to magically sort everything," he said and his words were so soaked in concern I didn't have it in me to be annoyed.

"I know," I turned my head to face him, "but whether it's Christmas or not, I can't just shirk my responsibilities."

He sighed again and this time, instead of rubbing his eyes, he curled the other arm around my shoulder, pulled me closer and rested his head on top of mine.

"You could if you really put your mind to it."

"Steve-"

"I'm just saying, think about it."

"Fine."

"Is that a real 'I'll think about it' or an 'I'll put the Christmas decorations up' sort of think about it?"

"You know what, Rogers."

He laughed and squeezed my shoulder and spent a while gathering his words before he opened his mouth again. "Please don't keep working yourself into the ground."

The first response to my lips was 'no promises' but knew it was a joke that would fall flat, mostly because it wasn't a joke. And in suppressing my answer I realised there wasn't really any other I could give. Whatever happened next was going to happen. There was no point in making a promise while things were quieter that would be impossible to keep when things picked up. And it was something he knew.

There was no knowing what was around the corner.

So I patted his stomach and he didn't push any further.

Instead we looked over at the Christmas stockings and read each of the names again and again.

27 December 2020

I went on the job.

It was a small one, barely worth mentioning. But I mention it because I was on my way back.

We were keeping tabs on a threat we couldn't do anything about. The sort of thing Project Insight was made for if it hadn't had such far-reaching and horrifying implications.

They were a target on Rhodey's list of many to dos. I owed him for his longer-than-intended stint in charge so I checked it out.

A stakeout was needed and a stakeout was done. When I came back there was still nothing we could do about the smug fucker carrying on his shady business from the back of a club.

I rode back on my bike, the gate opened without question and as the headlight glanced over the land it caught on a couple of figures. I meandered along with the road until I came up alongside them and killed the engine.

The night was clear enough to see the stars overhead and they shone with an intensity I admired. It was under their gaze I looked over the snow figures hanging out on the lawn as if they'd always been there.

Some definition was lost to the flurries that had started up since they were created. There were no footprints to give away the perpetrator but there was really only one person it could be.

I was bone-tired from the mission and the journey, my eyes ached and itched, the cold scratched and poked at any exposed skin and my head disagreed with my actions.

Kitted out in my hat and scarf and risking frostbite in my fingers in favour of quicker construction, I added to what Steve had started. It was slap dash and lopsided and I surrendered my winter wear to them for a better photo.

There was something exhilarating about making snowmen in the middle of the night. And that was ridiculous because my lifestyle had delivered me many an adrenaline rush and never from anything so mild and childish.

By the time I was done my fingers were stiff, the cold had seeped through all my layers, and the little flurries had grown stronger. I sent the photo to Steve and wrote Trespassers will be prosecuted.

I started up the engine again, feeling a little too satisfied after such a simple activity. I left the figures to haunt the grounds and rode the rest of the way to the garage, taking note of the glow that meant there was a light on somewhere in the building.

Once I was all parked up and off the bike I saw his reply. Who's going to prosecute Captain America?

Seem to remember there were 117 countries pretty keen on it not so long ago. Hope you have some tea ready for me.

How'd you know I was still here? I told Friday to keep it quiet.

The Director is a world-class spy and going to notice when there's a light on that shouldn't be. Friday interjected.

Well, that was creepy... Steve replied.

Sure. But she's right though.

It wasn't one of his regularly scheduled visits and even though I was greeted by snowmen outside and a cheerful text exchange, I couldn't help but worry that something was wrong. Though, when I entered the kitchen to find him wearing a Santa hat and a light up Christmas jumper it was clear the only thing wrong was his fashion sense.

"My, my, don't you look festive."

"That is the point," he said and threw a hat my way.

"Uhhh, you do realise it's almost one in the morning, right?" I said and threw the hat back.

"Yeah," he scratched the back of his neck, "I'll admit not the best timing. But, you know, this is more of a statement than anything."

"A statement of what?"

"My intent for us to celebrate Christmas together."

I stuck to my position in the doorway and tried to figure out if he'd lost it or was just trying to be eccentric. "Christmas was two days ago."

"Yeah, and you were working. And before that you weren't around for your birthday or Thanksgiving, so like hell am I gonna let you spend all of the festive season alone."

It was a very simple sentiment, one that was so Steve, and yet I still didn't quite expect it. I found I needed to swallow away a lump in my throat before I could say anything.

"Haven't you already celebrated?" I asked because questioning was a natural reaction and there was a slight stiffening to his shoulders. I thought that maybe, whether he'd realised it or not, the gesture was as much for him as it was me.

"Figured I could wait."

I finally stepped into the room and gave him and his attire another quizzical once over. "In which case, I'm not sure how I could refuse such an offer. But tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah, tomorrow," he said with a bright smile and he pulled me into a hug. I was just wondering if I should start getting worried about how huggy he was getting when a tinny version of Jingle Bells started playing from his jumper and he groaned while I burst out laughing. "That has literally never worked since I bought it."

I was going to call him a dork but I realised I'd already started looking forward to the next day, and I just couldn't bring myself to call him names no matter how much affection they came with. And, judging by the blush creeping across his cheeks, he didn't need me to tell him anyway.