Avengers, but make it Christmas
Starring: Avengers and female OC
Rachel Cullen was halfway through her third mug of mediocre tower coffee when Clint Barton burst into the communal floor and announced, loudly, that Christmas had been canceled.
“Canceled,” he repeated for emphasis, flinging one arm in the direction of the huge windows that overlooked the city. “Look at that. Snow. Lights. Holiday cheer. And what do we have inside Stark Tower?” He swept his hand around. “Nothing. Dead vibes. Tragic.”
The room was not tragic. There were already garlands along the banisters, courtesy of Sam and Bruce, and someone had stuck a Santa hat on the enormous Tony Stark portrait. The kitchen smelled faintly of cinnamon. Jingle Bells played softly from someone’s phone docked on the counter.
Natasha did not look up from cleaning one of her pistols. “You are being dramatic again.”
“Again implies he ever stopped,” Bucky said from his spot on the couch. He was scrolling through something on his phone, one foot resting on the coffee table. “What is the problem this time, Barton.”
“The problem is right there.” Clint jabbed at the floor near the windows. “That empty patch of hardwood. Do you know what used to go there in a better, more festive world. A tree. A glorious, towering symbol of joy. And we do not have one.”
“We have been a little busy saving people,” Sam pointed out, wandering in with a bowl of popcorn. “Crazy idea, I know.”
Rachel listened from her seat at the long kitchen island, fingers wrapped around her mug. She had been doing her best to blend quietly into the background, which was difficult when you were wearing a red sweater with snowflakes on it in a room full of assassins and enhanced soldiers.
She was S H I E L D communications, technically a liaison but in practice the voice in their ears on missions, the one stitching together satellite feeds and local comms and emergency response frequencies. She managed their press briefings with Maria Hill, coordinated information between agencies, and, when the world was not on fire, reviewed and filed reports in the tower.
She had not planned on being present for Clint Barton’s Christmas meltdown.
“It is December twenty second,” Clint said, as if this explained everything. “We always get a tree before now.”
“Last year you dragged in something that was barely taller than Thor,” Natasha said.
“Which is still tall,” Clint argued. “And it was dignified.”
“It dropped needles for six weeks,” Bucky said without looking up. “Every time I went to the kitchen I stepped on a dead branch. It was like guerrilla warfare, only sadder.”
Rachel bit the inside of her cheek to hide a smile.
Someone else walked in then, and the room’s energy shifted almost imperceptibly.
Steve Rogers crossed to the coffee machine with the easy confidence of a man who had faced aliens and killer robots and still somehow worried about whether the rest of the team had enough creamer. His hair was slightly damp from a shower, his henley sleeves pushed up, his expression soft and thoughtful as he reached for the coffee pot.
Rachel focused with fierce intensity on her mug.
Her heart had made up its mind about Steve months ago, quietly and all at once. She had sat in the monitoring room while he spoke calmly into comms, reassuring a panicked hostage through a live speaker and giving Rachel a gentle thank you afterward, and something in her had simply decided.
She knew better than to act on it. He was Captain America, and she was good at her job because she knew how to listen and not make herself the story. Still, standing in the same room with him had become a small exercise in self control.
“Morning,” he said, that warm baritone settling over the room.
“Stevie,” Clint groaned. “Tell them we need a tree.”
Steve glanced around, amused. “Good morning to you too, Barton.”
“We are suffering,” Clint went on. “Nat does not care because she is dead inside, Bucky is too busy brooding, and Sam is a traitor.”
“I am making popcorn,” Sam protested.
“So we can eat our feelings,” Clint said. “In the absence of a tree.”
Steve poured himself some coffee, then leaned a hip against the counter. His eyes moved toward Rachel almost at once, as if pulled by instinct.
“Hey, Rachel,” he said.
She tried not to jump. “Morning, Captain Rogers.”
His mouth tipped into that small smile that always made her stomach flip. “Steve,” he reminded her. “You can call me Steve.”
She could. In theory. In practice, every time she tried, her tongue tied itself in a knot.
“Right,” she said. “Steve.”
It came out soft and a little breathless. His smile deepened.
Natasha snapped a magazine closed. “We need a tree,” she declared. “Clint is annoying and he will only get worse.”
“You are all very ungrateful for my festive spirit,” Clint muttered. “Kate even had me in a sweater okay?”
Bucky finally put his phone down. His gaze flicked from Steve to Rachel and then to the empty space by the windows. His mouth curved.
“There is that farm a bit out of the city,” he said. “The one with the big trees and the hot cider. We went there a couple years ago.”
“The one where children were staring at us like we were a traveling circus,” Natasha said.
“Correct,” Bucky replied. “That one.”
Yelena, who had appeared somewhere between Clint’s announcement and Bucky’s suggestion, perked up from her perch on the arm of a chair. “The one with the axe.”
Steve frowned slightly. “I remember the farm. I do not remember children staring at us.”
“You were busy chopping down a tree with an axe,” Yelena said with complete seriousness. “It was a moment. Very heroic. Very flannel. Many photos were taken.”
Clint snapped his fingers. “That is it. Field trip. We go back. Rogers picks out a tree. Maybe does some light lumberjack work. Everyone wins.”
“We are not turning Steve into a tourist attraction,” Sam said, laughing.
Bucky slanted him a look. “Why not. People like him with an axe, apparently.”
Rachel was pretty sure her pulse skipped.
Steve, for his part, rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks going faintly pink. “I do not know if that is necessary. We can just have one delivered.”
“No,” Natasha said. “We are going to make Clint shut up and we are going to drink hot cider in the snow like humans.”
Yelena’s gaze slid toward Rachel in a way that made Rachel very slightly nervous.
“Also,” Yelena said, too innocent, “someone should go with him. It is not a good idea to send the super soldier alone. He might attempt to bring home the biggest tree on the lot.”
“That is a valid concern,” Sam said.
Rachel spoke before she could think better of it. “They usually will trim and load it for you,” she said. “If it is heavy.”
Natasha’s eyes gleamed. “Rachel. You have been very quiet.”
Rachel’s fingers tightened around her mug. “I have been working.”
“You are wonderful at your job,” Natasha said smoothly. “Also you are good at making decisions.”
“I am…” Rachel hesitated. “Sometimes.”
“You helped Maria choose the comms overhaul and the press release strategy last month,” Sam pointed out. “That seems like a decision.”
Bucky tipped his head. “You are also the only one here who is not going to start a snowball fight and forget about the actual tree.”
“That is unfair,” Clint said. “And maybe true. But unfair.”
Steve looked over at Rachel again, eyes curious, gentle. “It might be nice to have help,” he said. “Someone with taste. I can get very practical about trees.”
Natasha cleared her throat, a soft sound that somehow contained several warnings and a push. “Then it is settled. Steve and Rachel will go to the farm. They will choose a tree. They will bring it back. We will decorate it when you return.”
“You are very bossy for someone not technically my superior,” Steve said lightly.
“I am always your superior,” Natasha replied.
Rachel’s heart had started a quiet hammer against her ribs. “If you really want me to come, I can,” she said, trying to keep her voice level.
His expression went warm in a way that made it briefly hard to breathe. “I would like that,” he said simply.
Yelena grinned behind her coffee cup.
Clint threw his hands up. “Christmas is saved.”
The drive out of the city felt like stepping into a different world.
Steve drove one of the tower’s trucks, larger and sturdier than the sleek cars Tony preferred, the windshield wipers swishing rhythmically as light snow drifted down.
The city skyline receded in the rearview mirror, replaced by stretches of highway and then by country roads flanked by bare trees and white fields.
Rachel sat in the passenger seat, acutely aware of the warmth of the cab and the quiet presence of the man beside her.
She had dressed more carefully than she would ever admit out loud. Dark jeans, sturdy boots, her warmest coat, and the red snowflake sweater. A knit hat was tucked in her pocket. She had told herself it was practical. It also just happened to be cute.
Steve glanced over occasionally, his gloved hand steady on the wheel. The radio hummed with low background music. Neither of them seemed quite sure where to start.
Rachel finally cleared her throat. “So. Tree farm.”
He smiled. “Yes. Sorry about the ambush back there. They mean well.”
“I know,” she said. “They are very subtle.”
That earned her a quiet laugh. “They are not subtle,” he said. “At all.”
Silence settled again, but it was not uncomfortable. Snow feathered against the glass. The road ahead curved gently through fields dusted with white.
He tried again. “How are comms this week? Hill said you have been juggling half a dozen agencies.”
It was familiar ground, and that helped. Rachel relaxed, a little.
“We finally convinced Interpol to adopt the updated encryption protocols,” she said. “Which means we can stop routing through that ridiculous older system for cross border ops. And the media team stopped calling you Captain America in every briefing, so that is a win.”
He frowned, puzzled. “What do they call me now?”
“Steve Rogers,” she said. “Which is your name.”
His hands tightened on the wheel, almost imperceptibly. “You did that.”
She shrugged, looking out at the snow. “You are not a mascot. You are a person. It seemed important.”
A soft quiet filled the cab.
“Thank you,” he said, after a moment. “For that.”
“You are welcome,” she replied, voice barely above the hum of the heater.
They drove for another twenty minutes, talking in fits and starts. She told him about her early days in S H I E L D, how she had started in a call center rerouting panicked civilians during emergencies. He told her about learning to use a smartphone and being scolded by Natasha for answering spam calls. She laughed, and his eyes lit with pleased surprise as if he was collecting the sound.
By the time they turned into the gravel drive of the tree farm, some of the tightness in her chest had eased.
The farm looked like it had been plucked from a snow globe. Rows upon rows of evergreen trees stretched down gently sloping hills, their branches dusted with white. Wooden signs pointed toward hot cider, wreaths, and a small red barn where families gathered around barrels of tree stands. Children ran past in bright hats, laughing clouds of breath into the cold air.
Rachel stepped out of the truck and the cold nipped at her cheeks at once. She tucked her hat on and adjusted her scarf, breath puffing like smoke.
Steve came around the truck, hands in his coat pockets, eyes scanning the fields. Snowflakes caught in his hair. For a second he looked as young as the boy he must have been in Brooklyn, eyes wide with wonder.
He turned that look on her. “Ready.”
She nodded, smiling. “Let us go find the perfect tree.”
They checked in at the little booth to get a tag and a saw. The elderly man behind the counter grinned when he saw Steve and gave him a second look of familiarity, but to Rachel’s relief he did not say anything. The last thing she wanted was a crowd.
They walked between the rows, boots crunching on packed snow. The air smelled like pine and woodsmoke. Somewhere nearby a child squealed and a dog barked.
Rachel stopped at the first tree that caught her eye. Medium height, full branches, a neat conical shape. “This is nice,” she said.
Steve studied it. “It is a good tree.”
She nodded. Then frowned. “What is wrong?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she said. “The top is a little thin. And the space in the tower is big. This might look small.”
“We could put it on a platform,” he suggested.
“That feels like cheating,” she said.
He smiled. “So this one is a maybe.”
She took a pen from her pocket and marked a small star on the tag. “Maybe.”
They moved on.
The next tree was taller, with a strong top but a slightly bare patch on one side. She circled it, chewing her lip. “The front is good, but that side would have to go against the wall. And we always take photo calls in front of it. We need it to look even from at least three angles.”
Steve folded his arms, watching her with open amusement. “You take this very seriously.”
“This tree is going to be in half the photos that go on official feeds,” she said. “It will be background in press conferences. It needs to be right.”
“So this one is also a maybe,” he said.
She sighed. “I think so.”
He waited while she marked another little star. They continued.
After twenty minutes they had at least six maybes. Rachel was beginning to feel mildly ridiculous, but every tree seemed to have one little flaw that stood out once she really looked. Too sparse. Too crooked. Too short. Too tall in the wrong way.
“This is why I work in comms,” she muttered at one point. “I am very good at overthinking things that other people do not notice.”
Steve chuckled. “I think it just means you care.”
“It means we are going to be here until New Year’s,” she said.
He pretended to consider. “The farm does have hot cider. I could be persuaded.”
She bumped his arm lightly with her shoulder. The contact sent a brief line of warmth up her side.
They walked farther out, past where most of the families clustered. The ground sloped upward. The trees here were taller, their trunks thicker, their branches stretching wide as if they had had more time and space to grow.
Rachel stopped so suddenly that Steve took another step before turning back.
The tree in front of her towered at least two feet above Steve’s head. Its branches were full, layered, beautifully symmetrical despite its size. Snow rested on it like scattered sugar. It looked like it belonged in some grand old hall in a winter movie, the kind with a string quartet and people in gowns.
“This one,” she breathed.
Steve looked up. His brows shot up too. “That is a big tree,” he said.
“It is perfect,” she said, without hesitation. For once there was no maybe in her. “Look at it. The shape is beautiful. We can put all the ornaments on it, the big metallic ones that always look too much on the smaller trees. And the tower ceiling is high enough. And the windows behind will show the city lights.”
He was not looking at the tree anymore. He was looking at her, eyes soft.
“What?” she asked, suddenly self conscious.
“Nothing,” he said. “You just look happy.”
She realized then that she was smiling, wide and unguarded, the kind of delighted grin she usually kept carefully under wraps.
She tried to school her features but it was too late. He had seen it. He was smiling too, this quiet, fond curve of his mouth that made her heart give a slightly painful squeeze.
“You are sure,” he said. “It is a lot of tree.”
“It is the one,” she said. “I know it.”
He glanced between her and the massive trunk. “In that case, I guess we are doing this.”
They walked around it to mark the trunk and tie the tag. The snow was deeper out here. It squeaked under their boots. Their breath hung in the air.
“So,” she said, stepping back.
He shrugged out of his coat, revealing the henley beneath, the sleeves still pushed to his elbows. Rachel swallowed, very aware of some of Yelena’s earlier comments.
He posed up the axe with easy familiarity, tested its weight in his hands, then positioned himself by the trunk.
She stood back, well clear, heart beating in a way that felt vaguely ridiculous as she watched him focus. There was something inherently compelling about the way he moved, deliberate and efficient, powerful without aggression. The first swing landed with a solid crack. Snow trembled down from the branches. The second swing bit deeper. Wood chips flew. His muscles moved beneath fabric, the line of his jaw set.
Rachel wrapped her gloved hands around each other, fingers pressed tight. She was freezing from the knees down and yet somehow also too warm.
He paused briefly, catching his breath, then looked over his shoulder at her. “You doing all right over there?”
She nodded too quickly. “Fine. Yes. Absolutely. I am supervising.”
His mouth twitched. “Good. Keep supervising.”
Three more swings and the trunk gave a protesting creak. He adjusted his stance, gave one final strong cut, and the tree tipped in slow motion before crashing into the snow with a heavy, muffled sound that sent a small spray of white into the air.
Several nearby families paused to clap. A couple of teenagers lifted their phones. Steve flashed a sheepish smile, cheeks flushed more from embarrassment than exertion.
Rachel saw a little boy in a green hat and his mother standing nearby. The boy stared up with wide eyes.
“Mom,” he whispered, not very quietly. “Is that Captain America?”
His mother shushed him, then gave Steve an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”
Steve shook his head. “No need to apologize,” he said gently. He crouched to the boy’s level. “Merry Christmas. You picking out a tree?”
The boy nodded vigorously. “We are getting a big one.”
“I think that is a good idea,” Steve said. “Big trees are nice. More room for lights.”
The boy considered that, then nodded again. “Your tree is really big.”
Steve glanced back at the fallen evergreen. “It is,” he agreed. “I have some help though.”
He looked toward Rachel. The boy’s gaze followed.
Rachel managed a small wave. “Hi.” The boy eyed her seriously. “Are you an Avenger too?”
Rachel almost choked. “No. I just work with them.”
“She is very important,” Steve said. His voice was matter of fact. “She helps us talk to each other and to everyone else. We could not do what we do without her.”
The boy seemed to weigh that, then nodded solemnly. “Cool,” he decided.
His mother thanked them both and gently tugged him away before the moment could grow into a crowd. Steve watched them go, then straightened with a slight sigh.
“Sorry,” he said to Rachel. “I was hoping we would not attract too much attention out here.”
“It was sweet,” she said. And it had been. It had also made something warm spread in her chest at the way he had spoken about her in front of a stranger, simple and honest.
They worked together to secure the tree, tying a rope around the trunk and the middle so it would be easier to drag. Even with Steve’s strength, it was heavy. He took the bulk of the weight, muscles straining pleasantly, while she helped guide and lift the branches so they did not snag on other trees.
By the time they reached the truck, Rachel’s nose was pink and her legs ached, but there was a strange, giddy satisfaction in her bones. They had chosen this beautiful, ridiculous tree and brought it all the way back.
It took both of them and a helpful farm hand to wrangle the trunk up and into the bed of the truck, but once it was settled and secured with ropes, it looked like it belonged there.
Rachel leaned against the side of the truck, catching her breath. “We did it.”
Steve tilted his head, looking at the tree, then at her. “You did the hard part,” he said. “I just swung an axe.”
“You carried it,” she said. “I saw you do half of that drag single handed.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Perks of the serum.”
“Still impressive,” she said, before she could tamp the words down.
His eyes warmed in that way again, soft and pleased. “Thank you,” he said quietly.
Snow began falling more steadily, the flakes larger and fluffier, settling in his hair and on his coat. He brushed his hands together.
“We should get hot cocoa before we head back,” he suggested. “That feels like part of the tradition.”
“It is a very important part,” she agreed.
They returned the axe into the truck and made their way toward the barn. Inside, the air was warm and smelled like cocoa and spice. Strings of lights hung from the rafters. People stood at wooden barrels that doubled as tables, chatting and warming their hands around paper cups.
Steve ordered for both of them before she could protest, paying with cash he produced from his wallet. He handed her a steaming cup.
“Thank you,” she said, fingers prickling as they wrapped around the heat.
“Merry almost Christmas,” he said.
They found a spot near one wall, out of the main flow of people but still close enough to feel the hum of cheerful noise. Rachel blew carefully on her cup, then took a sip.
“This is really good,” she said.
Steve tried his and nodded approvingly. “Not as good as my mom’s,” he said. “But pretty close.”
He watched a little girl at a nearby table tug at her father’s sleeve, pointing out the window at the rows of trees. His expression softened with a kind of aching fondness.
“You really like this?” Rachel said.
He glanced over at her. “What? Christmas?”
“The whole thing,” she said, gesturing with her cup. “Trees. Cocoa. Kids. Snow. The chaos back at the tower.”
He considered the question. “I missed a lot of them,” he said finally. “After the ice, holidays were different. Loud in a different way.” He looked down into his cup. “Then I got this team, and it somehow feels a little like home again. Even with Clint’s terrible singing.”
“He is very committed to the bit,” Rachel said.
“That is one way to put it,” Steve replied, smiling.
She hesitated, then asked, “Do you ever wish it were quieter?”
He tilted his head. “Sometimes. But then, I do not know who I would be without all of this. Without the mission. The people.”
He lifted his gaze to hers. “What about you? How do you feel about all of it?”
She looked out the window. Snow blurred the outlines of the trees. The big trucks moved slowly with their green cargo.
“I grew up in a small town,” she said. “We had one main street. One tree lighting every year. Everyone knew everyone. When I moved to the city and then to S H I E L D, I thought I would miss that sense of… I do not know, intimacy.”
“Do you?” he asked.
“Sometimes,” she said honestly. “But the tower surprises me. There are days it feels like a very large, explosive small town. Especially around holidays.”
He laughed.
“And I like feeling useful,” she went on. “Being in the middle of all those signals and voices, knowing I can keep things clear. Even if I am just the one in the comms room.”
His brow furrowed. “You are not just anything,” he said, a little more firmly than before. “You keep us connected. You keep us grounded. You are the reason I do not always feel like a symbol instead of a person.”
Her heart stuttered. “That is… a lot of credit,” she said.
“It’s accurate,” he replied.
People moved around them, children with cookies, couples laughing softly, families bundling up. For a moment, the barn seemed to recede. All Rachel could see was the man in front of her, his earnest blue eyes, the way he held his cup as if it were anchoring him.
She set her cocoa down carefully on the barrel.
“Steve,” she said, before she could lose her nerve, “can I ask you something?”
“Anything,” he said at once.
She drew in a breath. “The others keep… pushing. You know that.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “I had noticed.”
“They are not subtle,” she said.
“No,” he agreed. “They are not.”
She swallowed. “Are they pushing you to do something you don’t want? Because if they are, I can talk to them. I know they listen to you most, but sometimes they hear me when I yell.”
The thought of him feeling cornered on her account made her stomach knot.
He stared at her for a long second, then set his own cup down.
“They are not pushing me to do anything I don’t want,” he said quietly. “If anything, they are pushing me to stop dragging my feet. Bucky knows me… too well.”
“Dragging your feet about what?” she managed.
He shifted closer, not so close as to crowd her, but enough that the barn noise dimmed at the edges.
“Rachel,” he said, and her name in his mouth sounded like something careful and treasured. “I like you. A lot. I have for a while now. I have been taking my time because I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. You work with us. It is complicated. And you are very good at looking strictly professional when I talk to you, so sometimes I wasn’t sure how you felt.”
Her lips parted. “I thought I was being obvious,” she blurted.
His brows lifted. “You weren’t,” he said. “At least not to me. I thought you were avoiding me half the time.”
“I was,” she said helplessly. “Because I like you. And I didn’t want anyone to notice. That clearly went very well.”
He laughed, the sound soft and relieved and incredulous all at once. “We are both terrible at this,” he said.
“Yes,” she agreed.
He sobered a little. “If you would rather keep things as they are, I will. I can do that. But if you might ever consider letting it be something more…” He let the sentence trail off, leaving the space between them full of carefully offered hope.
She looked at him. At the earnest way he met her gaze. At the slight tension in his shoulders, like a man prepared for the worst even as he hoped for the best.
She thought about the empty space by the tower windows, waiting for a tree. About the way her heart had leaped when he said he would like her company, and the warmth of his voice when he told a little boy she was important.
“I think,” she said slowly, “that I have been waiting for you to say that out loud since at least August.”
His breath left him in a visible puff of relief. “Yeah.”
“And I would like it,” she continued, “if it was something more. Carefully. Slowly. With boundaries and conversations and probably several memos to H R.”
He smiled, wide and unguarded, like the lights that would soon wrap around their ridiculous tree.
“I am very good at following rules,” he said. “Usually.”
“Bucky disagrees,” she replied. Steve chortled.
They stood there for a moment, everything new and fragile and shining between them.
Steve glanced up at the ceiling, then back at her, cheeks pink again. “I am not going to kiss you in a barn at a tree farm with a dozen families around,” he said. “That feels… less than ideal.”
Something inside her relaxed at the thoughtfulness of that. “All right,” she said, even though a part of her tingled with curiosity at how it would feel.
“But,” he added softly, “I would very much like to hold your hand on the way back to the truck. If you are comfortable with that.”
She lifted her hand, fingers trembling just a little. “I think that can be arranged.”
He took it gently, his palm warm around her gloved fingers, his thumb brushing the side of her hand in a careful, grounding touch.
They finished their cocoa They stepped back out into the snow, the world bright and cold and full of possibility.
The walk across the lot was slow, mostly because the ground was slick and also because neither of them seemed in a hurry to let go.
Rachel’s heart felt lighter than it had in months. The huge tree loomed in the truck bed, an absurd green witness to this quiet, momentous shift.
As they climbed into the cab, Steve squeezed her hand once more before letting go so he could drive.
“We are going to have to tell them something,” he said, starting the engine.
“The team?” she said.
“They already suspect everything,” he went on. “But we should be honest. Eventually.”
“I agree,” she said. “But they also sent us out here to pick up a tree, not to start a relationship. If we tell them right away, Clint is going to take full credit.”
He considered that with exaggerated seriousness. “You are right,” he said. “We have to protect ourselves from Barton.”
They drove back toward the city, the snow easing into a gentle flurry. Holiday songs played quietly on the radio, and every once in a while their hands found each other again on the console between them, resting there as if they had done this a hundred times.
By the time they pulled into the tower’s underground garage, Rachel had convinced herself that she could manage not to look obviously different walking in beside him.
This illusion shattered almost immediately.
Clint and Yelena were already waiting near the freight elevator, bundled in coats, their expressions a mix of eagerness and mischief.
“You are back,” Clint said. “And you brought a tree. A very large tree.”
Yelena peered around them toward the truck. “It is beautiful,” she said frankly. “Great so this is when they put you and me to work most.” Bucky said. “You have a metal arm you point it out all the time.” Yelena teased. Then she narrowed her eyes at Rachel. “You took a long time picking.”
Rachel lifted her chin. “I wanted it to be perfect.”
Steve checked the ropes one last time. “Help me get it upstairs and then you can all judge for yourselves,” he said.
It took a team effort to maneuver the giant tree into the freight elevator and up to the communal floor. Sam joined in on the next level, and even Bruce was drawn from his lab by the commotion. Natasha stood ready with a vacuum for rogue needles.
When they finally tilted the tree upright into its stand near the windows, even Clint fell briefly silent.
The tree was enormous, full and imposing and glorious, reaching nearly to the ceiling. Against the backdrop of the city skyline, it looked like it belonged there.
“Okay,” Clint said at last. “Fine. You did good.”
“It is very impressive,” Bruce said.
Natasha nodded once in approval. “It will photograph well,” she said, which was her version of high praise.
Yelena folded her arms, looking between the tree and the two people who had chosen it. “You were gone a long time,” she repeated, softer now, something knowing in her gaze.
“Shhh.” Bucky scolds.
Rachel felt heat rise to her cheeks. Beside her, she sensed Steve go a little still.
“We had trouble deciding,” he said calmly. “Rachel had a high standard.”
“She usually does,” Maria Hill said from the doorway. She had appeared without Rachel noticing, as she often did. Her eyes moved from the tree to Rachel with a small, almost imperceptible smile. “It paid off.”
As the others swarmed to find lights and ornaments, Rachel stepped slightly aside to take it all in. The tree. The team. The way the room already felt warmer, brighter.
Steve joined her, close enough that his arm brushed hers.
“Thank you,” he said quietly. “For helping me pick.”
“I did not help,” she said. “I tortured you with decision paralysis.”
“I was very patient,” he said. “I think that deserves some credit.”
She laughed softly. “You were.”
Steve opened his mouth to say something else, then his eyes drifted upward. Rachel followed his gaze.
A sprig of mistletoe hung in the archway between the kitchen and the sitting area — tied with red ribbon, positioned with suspicious precision.
Clint Barton was across the room pretending to examine a string of lights upside down, whistling like a man who desperately wanted to look innocent and failed spectacularly.
“Oh no,” Rachel breathed. “How long has that even been there?”
“Long enough,” Natasha said from the couch, not looking up from her tablet. “Finally.”
Rachel froze. “Finally?”
Bucky smirked. “We all had bets on how long it’d take you two to stop being—” he gestured vaguely, “—like that.”
Sam nodded at the mistletoe. “Took you long enough.”
“There was a pool?” Steve asked, incredulous.
Yelena didn’t bother to hide her grin. “Yes. I won.”
Steve let out a tiny, embarrassed groan. Rachel pressed a hand over her mouth, mortified and flustered and maybe a little delighted.
She stepped back a fraction. “We are not even under it.”
“You are close enough,” Clint said, still upside-down with the lights. “League rules say within a three-foot radius counts as festive territory.”
“Clint,” Steve warned.
Natasha didn’t even glance up. “Just kiss her, Steve.”
Rachel went very still.
Steve exhaled, then looked at Rachel — really looked at her — and everything else in the room blurred into a warm hum of lights and laughter.
“You don’t have to,” she whispered.
His smile was soft, real, a little shy. “I want to, I’d prefer them all not here, but..”
She felt her breath catch, a warm tremor running down her spine. She nodded once, slow.
He stepped in, fingers brushing her cheek, then her jaw, gentle as snowfall.
And under the glow of the still-bare Christmas tree, with the city shining behind them and half the Avengers pretending not to stare, Steve Rogers kissed Rachel Cullen for the very first time.
It was careful at first — a question, a promise — then deeper, warmer, a slow-burn match finally catching.
Somewhere behind them, Clint whispered, “Pay up.”
Natasha held out a hand without looking. “Told you. Today.”
Bucky muttered, “I had ‘tomorrow morning’, damn it, he clearly learned things.”
“He’s 90 not dead.” Natasha threw tinsel at Barnes.
Sam sighed dramatically. “Beautiful. Finally. Merry Christmas to us all.”
Rachel felt Steve smile against her lips before he pulled back, breath mingling with hers in the soft glow of the tree lights.
He slipped his hand into hers, leading her toward the tree.
The team continued arguing cheerfully about which lights to use. Someone turned on a playlist. Sam and Bucky resumed their annual star-placement competition. Outside, the city glittered bright through the windows.
Rachel stood beside Steve, heart steady and full, and thought for the first time that Christmas felt exactly as it should.
Cozy. Bright. A little chaotic.
And now — full of promise.
