#scuttle-buttle

"Yes, I've got you," you instruct with a nod, "now push off a little with the right foot and let your left follow.” Gently you begin to skate backwards, guiding Bob along. Even under the twinkling glow of lights, the colorful blur of thick downy coats, and laughter bouncing around the rink his brow was furrowed in concentration. He rocked unsteady. You were sure that his nails would leave indents in your skin through your thick sweater - not that you minded.

When Yelena had offhandedly mentioned to you that she wanted to experience her first American Christmas you knew what you had to do. Over a late night of drinking she confessed it. You both were reminiscing on the olden days, on the people you’d loved and lost. She told you of Natasha. How the last time she was in New York during the holidays it was shortly after she lost her sister and she had been so consumed with grief and finding Clint Barton that she never got to enjoy the festivities. 

The two of you had become close in an instant when you met. It was like you’d known each other your whole lives. Val had unwittingly recruited you after Bucky demanded that you work with the Thunderbolts - ehem - “New Avengers” - after the events involving the Void. By this point months later you were so close with the team you wondered how you ever got by without your found family. Alexei and Bucky were somehow the “parents” of your dysfunctional little group. Even Walker, who was a notoriously nicknamed “America’s Asshole” around the tower, was like a brother to you.

Which is exactly why you took it upon yourself to plan the most extravagant, most extraordinary, American Christmas for the team. So you made a list. Movies, decorating, presents - the whole nine yards.

First on the list? Ice skating and the tree lighting in Rockefeller Center, which is how you found yourself here holding hands and tugging a nauseous looking Bob around the rink. 

“Looking good, Bobby!” John whooped from the sidelines. Bucky leaned against the rail holding a cup of steaming black coffee, giving a silent cheers with his paper cup. Walker and Buck refused to get on the ice - you didn’t give them the option to not come to support Yelena and Bob - and they knew not to get on your bad side. 

Yelena and Ava whipped past you in a flourish, cheering for your teammate. “Yay Bob!” His blush darkened his already frostbitten cheeks.

You continued your laps, Bob getting slightly steadier on his skates. “How’re you feeling sweetheart? You’re doing so great.” His blue eyes met yours. You almost swore you saw a flash of that gold he kept buried deep down as his confidence grew. 

“Good - yeah I’m good,” he huffed in a sort of chuckle, like he was in disbelief at how well this was going. You both smiled at each other softly, almost shy. Bob wasn’t used to you being shy towards him. You had been quick to join Yelena in taking him under your wing. As time passed your bond deepened, changed. It was different from the others, yet no less significant. Stolen glances, whispered words, the occasional touch that lingered much too long, a meeting of lips in the most gentle of kisses. Nothing was official between you two, but everyone knew that there was something there. 

It felt like time stood still; almost like there was a spark of magic in the air.

Which…. didn’t last long.

With a gasp Bob lost his balance. The two of you went tumbling onto the ice in a heap of limbs. His arms circled around your waist, protecting you from the worst of the impact. People of all ages continued to dash around you. For a moment you just looked at your Bob, unsure of how he would react to the fall. His lip twitched once, twice, before breaking out into a wide grin, his laugh breaking the silence. You matched it with one of your own.

Icy fingers moved the fallen brunette locks from his eyes, checking him over for any injuries. “You okay?” He nodded, bashful.

"Are you? I tried to catch you." 

"I know. You're very good at breaking my fall." 

Bob snickers. His digits twitch against your side. "A guy's gotta be good at something. "

With a ksch and spray of snow Alexei skidded to a stop, his large body looming yet surprisingly lithe on skates. “Why you on ground? Be strong, Bob! You are strong and will conquer the ice!” With a powerful thrust and fist bump he was off.

“Yep. I will get right on that,” he called after to the retreating Russian with a shake of his index finger. 

After catching your breath you nod to the team who are gathering on the sidelines. “It's about time for the tree lighting. Let’s get some hot cocoa and find a good spot?” His hand entwined with yours as you pulled yourselves to your shaky feet, leading him back to the others.

The team quickly changed back into their shoes before finding the queue for hot chocolate. Thankfully it moved quickly. Stepping up to the window you ask “can we get 7 deluxe hot cocoas please-”

John interrupts. “-Only 6 deluxe. Just give me the regular.” The cashier nods while Bucky settles the tab, grumbling about how back in his day this would’ve only cost him a nickel. 

Yelena balks at his request. “What? Why are you ruining American Christmas!?”

“You don’t-” Walker sighs “-you don’t have to keep calling it ‘American Christmas’. Just call it Christmas, Yelena.”

“Even Bucky got the deluxe, and he’s an old grump,” Ava chimes in with a sideways glance. James doesn’t respond, just rolls his eyes and stays out of it. 

“Yeah well, all the sugar from the whipped cream and marshmallows is bad for my workout regime,” he trails off with a half-assed wave of his hand. 

“So…let me get this straight….” Ava starts, brow cocked high. “You, a super soldier, can’t have a little something sweet on holiday for fear it will ruin your metabolism, that you clearly don’t need, since the serum is making your body basically perfect? Hmm, yeah that’s such bullshit.” 

“Poor baby Walker,” Yelena cuts in with a sarcastic pout. The two women keep teasing John. 

“Alright- alright! I just don’t like marshmallows, okay? They’re weird and sticky,” he grinds out.

Even Bob looks affronted. “What? Everybody loves marshmallows…” Nobody has the heart to tell Bob that he has a whipped cream moustache coating his upper lip. It's adorable. You grab your mug and take a generous gulp, despite the heat burning your tongue. 

The blonde widow suddenly snaps her fingers - “Oh! I know what this is! You are the goblin man who eats Christmas!” Everyone stops to glance her direction confused. “You know!?” She starts gesturing wildly with her fingers, trying not to spill the drink overflowing with whipped cream and marshmallows and chocolate shavings. “He kidnaps the small girl and together they try to get Christmas, no? Stealing the toys and sugar plums from the little children’s dreams?” She mimics a plucking motion to demonstrate.

Nobody quite knows what to say until Bob quips in with a “do you mean the Grinch?”

“Yes! Thank you, Bob! See I knew I liked you best!” she jumps, giving the timid man a hug. “Walker is such a Grinch!” The spy immediately turns to you. “And I like you too because you are giving me my American Christmas!” she all but squeals. Once again Walker sighs in defeat.

Making your way to the festivities, the group finds a good spot to settle. Yelena oohs and ahhs at the tree, commenting on how big it is - “even bigger than your gun, Walker”. The crowd is beyond thick. You can feel Bob retreating into himself so you slip your hand into his, fingers entwined with yours. He shoots you an appreciative smile. 

Soon enough the countdown begins. 

“Three! - Two! - One!” 

The tree’s lights nearly blind you with all their shimmering glory. Beams of white, red, blue, and gold scatter across your faces, illuminating the sparkles within Bob and Yelena’s eyes, open wide with wonder. Though you’ve seen the Rockefeller tree several times growing up it never ceases to amaze you with its grandeur. Daring to peek around, you spot the same look of wonderment on your found family. Alexei cheers raucously from behind, Ava and Walker are not bickering for once, Bob has his mouth hanging wide, and Yelena’s expressive eyes are wet with unshed tears. You think you even see a smile on Bucky’s usually grumpy face.

You give Bob’s fingers a gentle squeeze, all while leaning over to wrap your arm around Yelena’s shoulders. Giving the man beside you a kiss to his cheek, you lean and give a chaste kiss to the Russian girl’s hair, whispering “merry American Christmas, Lena.” 

__________________________

“Has everyone got on their sweater?” you announce while standing in the center of the team. The 6 other members of the Thunderbolts New Avengers stood lined up. It was clear that they were not the most excited bunch about this… excursion… of yours. And then there was Lena. She was practically bouncing with excitement. 

Bucky pulls at the collar of his sweater - some itchy woolen contraption full of stripey green and red patterns. It was hideous. But Yelena was excited so he dealt with it….mostly. “Do I really need to be matching in this….thing?” he pulled at the collar again. I could just wear something red and stand in the back.”

“Yes,” both you and Yelena retort, “and no.”

John shifted, his hands coming to rest on his hips. “Shit… This is embarrassing. Why are we doing this, people are staring,” he whispered. Walker gave a weak wave at the people passing by with their cell phones raised. 

“Because this is what regular people do for the holidays,” you respond with a more genuine smile on your face, passing out a plethora of red Santa hats.

Ava stood with her arms crossed. “You Yanks are odd.”

The line moved up until it was your turn. “Alright everyone, here we go. Remember - hats on, smiles up!” 

Everyone gathered around the plush chair. Alexei gave the jolly man in a red suit a slap on the back, thanking him for bringing ‘joy to children,’ but not without bringing up how Russia’s Morozko was still superior to the American version. The mall Santa didn’t quite know what to make of that, letting out an awkward chuckle. 

You stood with Bob and Yelena right in front, your arms wrapped around their backs. Yelena had managed to find a prop of a beautifully wrapped gift, holding to her chest like it was precious cargo. Meanwhile Bob fiddled with the edges of his sweater, oversized just like he preferred. 

“Alright everyone -  say ‘American Christmas!’”

With a click the camera shuttered, capturing the photo.

Nobody quite knows how the Mall Santa picture made it onto the team’s official social media accounts - ugly Christmas sweaters, floppy crimson hats, cheesy grins, and all.

_______________

“Are you sure it’s going to fit?” Bob says while trying to catch his breath.

“It’ll fit.”

He tosses an unsure look at you. “Yeah, but…it’s so big.”

You curl your arm around Bob’s shoulder. “Sweetheart, it’s not that-” you trail off for a few seconds  “-ah okay yeah it’s pretty big,” you giggle. He giggles too.

“Lena wanted the biggest we could get soooo” you gesture at the massive pine tree Bucky and Alexei were trying to set up in the common area. Bob had gone with them to pick it up while Yelena called all the shots on which was the tallest, thickest, most green tree on the lot. The three men brought it up to the Tower, Bob trailing along carrying the edge (he wanted to feel useful). “An American Christmas it is!”

“If you’re so worried about it why don’t you get Sentry to fly up there and make sure we get it in place, hm? Would be quicker than the ‘Gramps’ over there.” Walker kicks back on the couch, arms flipping through a magazine. He had been tasked with picking out decorations at the store with you and Ava; really you just wanted him to carry all the bags with his super strength.

Bob blinks before sputtering out "you know I can't use Sentry without… Him coming out too. Don’t think he really fits the Christmas spirit. But I can look and tell you if it's crooked, though." 

Yelena walks over and swats the back of John’s head as if to say ‘don’t ruin this for us’. She and Ava shuffle through the bags of decor. Bob shifts awkwardly in the center of the room pulling at his too-long sleeves, considering what task to do next. Yelena pulls out handfuls of red stockings, each embroidered with your names. Looking around her smile falls. “We don’t have a fireplace.”

Head ducking, Bob chips in. “I have an idea.” 

So Bob and Yelena begin the meticulous task of pinning up each stocking along the bar’s granite countertop, whispering to themselves about how they never got to do these things as children. For a moment you worried that your idea was just reminding them of all the things that haunted them. But when the two looked up with beaming smiles everything just clicked into place. You were meant to be here with these people, and they were meant to be here with you. 

You tasked yourself with finding the perfect Christmas playlist - all the greats like Bing Crosby, Burl Ives, even the occasional Mariah Carey. With the tree finally secured in place you all begin the task of putting up the remaining decorations. Lights and baubles and tinsel wrap the tree in every color. Candles and snowglobes scattered around the various surfaces, wreaths and garland adorned every door and window. Even Bucky got in on it, stringing popcorn to hang on the tree like he used to do with his sisters as children. It looked like a Sears catalogue from the 1980s. 

Yelena picks up the silvery star meant for the treetop. It was the final touch. She took a moment to ponder her reflection, seeing the smile that felt right, the light behind her usually dark eyes. Alexei ran his hand over her hair soothingly. “You look happy. Like when you were little girl, my sweet Malyshka with eyes so bright.” She buries her face into his chest as he squishes her in his arms, dropping a kiss to her head.

With a sniffle she lifts her face. “Hey Dad, could you give me a lift?” Alexei bends down as she climbs on top of his open palms. With perfect balance he lifts her towards the highest branch and she delicately places the star. 

It’s perfect. 

The newfound family gathers to admire their handiwork, chatting softly under the glow of the Christmas lights and flickering candles, mugs of tea and cocoa that Bob prepared as a reward for their hard work. Quickly the conversation turns to a heated debate on which holiday film was the best - Home Alone, White Christmas, or Elf. Ava tried to suggest the Nightmare Before Christmas but Walker argued it didn’t count, much to her annoyance.

Sliding your arm around his elbow you tug Bob away. He follows without question. “I need your help with something,” you explain while guiding him to the edge of the room. Stopping at the doorway you nudge something prickly into his hand. 

“Wha- oh.” A deep crimson spreads over his freckled cheeks. 

Mistletoe.

He looks up then stretches onto his toes, securing the sprig from the hook you’d hung earlier. Coming back down he licks his lips and locks stormy blue eyes with you. 

Biting your tongue you swallow down your nerves. Barely above a whisper you tell him “you know… it is tradition to kiss the person you meet under the mistletoe.”

He blinks in that way you know he’s fighting back another blush. “We uh-” he clears his throat “-we wouldn’t want to break tradition, would we?” You let him take the lead. He steps closer, his palm coming to rest on your waist. Slowly but surely hip lips meet yours so, so softly, almost as if you hadn’t done this before. When your hands come to rest against his chest it renews his confidence and he kisses you with more intent. Once, twice, thrice.

“Ewwww guys they are making out!” Yelena teasingly yells across the room, shocking you out of your moment. 

You jump apart. Bob’s eyes are wide as he pulls back a fraction to face the team. Shrugging he defends himself. “What? It’s tradition,” he says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

______________

“Icing-”

“-Icing.”

“Gumdrop-”

“-Gumdrop.”

“Chocolate chip-”

“-Chocolate chip.”

“Bob-”

“-Bob-” a pause “-Bob…?” Lena questions, the name breaking her focus.

Big blue doe eyes flick between you and the widow. “Yes, Bob. Sweetheart, save some candy for the house,” you remind him with a wink as he lifts yet another piece of chocolate to his mouth.

You, Bob, and Yelena worked like a well oiled machine assembling your gingerbread house. Frosted window panes, peppermint paved sidewalks, and gumdrop shingles in every color brought your imagination to life. Yelena even placed a cutout of the mall picture in the front yard. “There. Now it is a tiny Tower for tiny Avengers.” 

“It looks great. Love the teamwork everyone!” You high-fived your two Thunderbolts.

“When do we get to eat it?”

You laugh at her question. “You don’t - the gingerbread in this is too hard to eat, we just decorate it. But-” you reach across the table towards the rest of the team “- that’s what these are for.” You shake the plate of fresh baked cookies at them. “How’s it coming Buck? Ava?”

In response they both just pause their conversation to show you the cookies they already finished. All are frosted the exact same; white, green, or red icing indelicately smeared over the top and a dash of sugar crystals thrown on top.

The widow nods. "Love the effort guys." 

“Simple.” Bob states, matter-of-fact and reaching for one to nibble on. “Ahn dehlishus;" crumbs tumble onto his sweater. 

“Lena - hey hey - which is better? Red Guardian, eh?” Alexei wiggles his brows and holds up a gingerbread man that kind of resembles himself in uniform, “or this guy, pfft” he gestures at Walker’s similarly designed self-themed cookie with a scoff.

“Wow. That’s so…. Did you give him your beard…?” Yelena squints at the cookie, which very much has a squiggle of frosting reminiscent of Alexei's facial hair. 

A beat passes before she shoots up out of her seat and lunges across the table. “I WANT TO MAKE COOKIE LENA!”

_____________

“How does the Secretive Santa work?” Yelena asked, eyeing the bag you held with furrowed brow like it would hold all the answers to the universe, or maybe a bug that needed to be squashed.

“Each person draws a name from the bag, but you have to make sure that you don’t tell anyone who you got. Your job is then to buy that person a gift to give them for Christmas.”

Alexei grunts. “What if I get myself? Do I buy present for me?”

“Then you draw a different card,” Ava says from next to you.

The big Russian grunts again and shakes his head in a nod, decaring “Red Guardian is great gift giver. You would be lucky to have him. Once in Soviet Russia I gift-”

“-Oookay dad thank you I want to pick now.” Yelena doesn’t waste a beat before shoving her hand in the bag, eyes squeezed shut, and pulling a name. She opens the slip of paper. Gaze drifting around the team she leaves no clues about who she picked, her poker face like that of a black cat on the prowl. 

The rest of the group follows her lead. You receive Alexei, knowing exactly what to get him already. Glancing around you watch as Bob draws a paper - you hold in a smirk seeing how the tips of his ears go red beneath his brown curls, his eyes darting to Bucky before hitting the floor. Your poor Bob, the darling man. 

___________

There were 2 weeks before Christmas for you all to sort out gifts, and boy did it go by in a blur.

Christmas morning comes. Finally.

You tried to be sneaky about placing your gift under the tree before the sun rose. Creeping into the living room, you spy Bob bent over placing a box snugly beneath a branch. “Pssst.”

“AH!” he jumps with a start, throwing his hand over his chest. “Geez you nearly scared me to death!” A flicker of yellow popped into his iris before disappearing. 

The present he placed was wrapped with a golden paper, too much tape and a wonky bow settled on top - just like the 6 others wrapped identically beside it. They caught your suspicion immediately. “Whatcha doing?” you ask in a singsong voice. 

His face is already beet red at being caught. “N-nothing. I- uh- got to go,” he stumbles over his words and bare feet as he retreats past you back to his room, but not before dropping a quick kiss to your cheek. 

With a shake of your head you decide to finish what you came for, adding your gift to the growing pile beneath the tree. On your way back to your room you stopped at the glass of milk and plate of cookies you insisted to Yelena, must be left out. ‘Like a sacrifice offering to Santa Claus’ she’d called it. Intending to take a few nibbles for the illusion, you noticed that someone had already helped themself to the treats (you would later learn that despite being sure it was Alexei or maybe John, it had actually been Bucky). 

Morning came soon enough, the 7 of you gathered around the tree in your pajamas. Steaming mugs of coffee were passed around. The radio was quietly playing christmas carols and the tv was tuned to a fake fireplace video. 

“Alright, who wants to go first?”

Alexei’s hand shoots up. “Red Guardian will start!” He digs around the pile of presents before pulling out a red wrapped box (to no-one's surprise). “For Mr. America.” John opens it to reveal a framed magazine clipping on his work redeeming himself as an Avenger and a toy action figure of himself. You can just make out the way his words catch as he thanks the Russian man.

Walker goes next, giving his gift bag to you. Riffling through you pull out a polaroid camera set. “So you can take more embarrassing pictures of us without dragging us to the mall again.” The team cackles at his “but seriously please don’t, I hate the mall.”  You thank him and open the camera, flicking on the switch, loading the photo paper, and posing with your new family behind you as you take the shot. They wait patiently while you label it as ‘An Avengers’ First American Christmas’.

Alexei receives his present from you next. The red striped paper is torn to bits in seconds; “Ah! YES!” he yells while holding up a custom engraved ‘New Avengers’ whisky glass set and bottle of top shelf vodka - Russian made, of course.

Bucky shifts. He places a sleek black box in front of Yelena. 

Her lips curve up, excitement hardly restrained. Delicately she lifts the tape on one side of the gift. Then another. The team waits with bated breath as she removes the lid. A choked sob breaks from her chest and she reaches in and pulls out a small trinket, then another. An old photo of two young girls follows, and a small envelope with the word Sestra written in delicate script. Sister. 

“They belonged to Natasha. Pepper had them in storage and I know Nat would’ve wanted you to have them.” Bucky explains. Yelena twists closer to him, her arms wrapping around his shoulders. He holds her, comforting her as she mumbles something in Russian that you don’t quite catch. 

Tears calm and Lena cheerfully asks Ava to fetch the next bag under the glittering tree, bringing the team back from  the bittersweet moment. The Brit clutches several colorful eyeliner pencils and a certificate for a rage room. “Now we can have matching style when we save the world and then show these boys how it’s done, kick their asses!” they laugh. 

Ava starts her turn and passes a neatly tied Harrods box to Bob. He opens it with glee, his smile cracking huge on his face. “Oh, man- this- this is great Ava. Thanks!” Bob lifts up a charcoal grey knit sweater as if it's the best thing he’s ever seen. He puts it on over his sleep shirt, the sleeves dangling past his wrists just like he favors. 

Sweater half hanging off his shoulder Bob presents Bucky with his gift. James opens the golden box to reveal a can of car polish and a set of fingerless leather gloves. With a cock of his brow Buck holds up the polish. “It’s so you can- uh- keep your arm shiny,” he starts sheepishly. “And I know you tore up your gloves on the last mission.” 

Bucky nods in appreciation and gives him a nudge. “It’s great, kid.” 

“Hey Bob…. why are there so many presents left… that’s kinda weird, no? Weren’t you only supposed to get like, one?” Lena peers at him then points to all the identically wrapped presents leftover.

“Oh. Umm.” Bob rocks back and forth on his heels. “Yeah I- I guess but I just wanted to get something for everyone, you know? Because I just-” he clears his throat and looks down for a moment before meeting the group’s gaze. “-I just wanted you all to know how much you mean to me. After everything.” 

Yelena moves first, launching herself into a hug. You follow suit. Next thing you know Bob is under a dogpile of Thunderbolts, murmurs of ‘we love you Bob’ and ‘we’re so glad you’re part of our family’ and 'merry American Christmas' fill the room.

Finally breaking free, Bob passes out the remaining boxes to the team, and a flurry of gold and tape and wonky bows covers the floor. 

Ava gets a container of her favorite tea and jaffa cakes from back home. Alexei gets another Red Guardian Avengers Edition comic book for his collection. Yelena, one half of a ‘best friends’ keychain (Bob has the other half). He gets you a photo album to fill with polaroids; in the front slot sits the first group picture the team ever took. 

As the Thunderbolts admire the gifts, Walker looks up dumbly. 

We are SOOOO in an Avengers Tower Renaissance right now and I'm living for it. So here are some of my thoughts and musings about what our favorite band of misfits are up to as the New Avengerz*

• Bob isn't comfortable branching out and doing a lot of the more intense things, but he loves being domestic around the watchtower for the team. He always insists that he can help clean the place or do dishes and laundry for everyone. At first you worried he would get tired of the menial tasks but he liked having something he could do for the team. He does love it when you help him out, and he (not so secretly) loves that you play music and dance or sing along while you wash dishes and he dries them

• Bob is also willing to try whatever anyone cooks - even Alexei. He'd just shrug and say he'd had worse in his body before and take a bite bigger than was necessary. The rest of the team watches in horror as he chews, manages to swallow, and gives a "its.... ah.. not bad" in his awkwardly charming way.

• Alexei's friendly slap on his back is enough to almost knock Bob over

• The only time Bob didn't try something of Alexei's is when he made bootleg vodka and Yelena slapped it out of his hand before he could take a swig

• Yelena and Ava have sleepovers. You join them, of course. They didn't get them as children, so they are making up for lost time now. Yelena insists on doing makeup every. Single. Time.

• Walker would surprisingly be a good gym buddy. At first you thought he'd be too snarky with you, but you found a good rhythm. Sometimes he gives football captain vibes tho and you definitely tease him about it

• You teach bucky to knit. He does it begrudgingly but is a quick study. When walker and yelena called him old man or grandpa, or they give him smirks he just grumbles "It's relaxing."

• Alexei tries to plan parties or fun nights or whatever you want to call them. He tries to be unpredictable but let's be honest - every single one starts with a drinking game, peaks with very loud (off key) singing, and ends with a group hug around him after he starts dramatically crying to the team about how much he loves everyone and how they are his family and he loves the work they do

• Bob loves to sit and chat. It begins as small talk about your days, then next thing you know it's 1 am and you're sitting on the floor facing each other having heart to hearts about anything and everything. He also likes it when you all (really just you and Yelena) run your fingers thru his hair as you talk. Once or twice he's fallen asleep next to you as he listen to you ramble on

• He snores lightly. Sometimes he mumbles. It's adorable

• Yelena begins to dance again, this time for pleasure. She hated it in the red room but found a newfound freedom in it now that she's an avenger. It makes her feel closer to Natasha too

• Walker loves reality TV but pretends he loathes it. If you have it on TV and he walks in he will constantly criticize and talk thru the entire episode. But he has a bad habit of leaving his phone unlocked at the gym and you've seen several searches for the latest gossip in his Google history

• You and Bob help Ava with time trials using her powers. So far she's up to 2 and a half minutes now when invisible

• At first Valentina used to try and make passive aggressive comments towards Bob not using his abilities, but the team very quickly shut that down. She never pushed Bob again

• I like to think that Bucky's cat Alpine was actually found by Yelena in a dumpster outside. She has the habit of trying to save the "little guy" and all the animals. Bucky didn't want to deal with this new kitten but she immediately bonded with him. He succumbed within seconds

• Now Bucky's lock screen is Alpine sleeping

• The team does group therapy once a month at minimum

• You're pretty sure bucky and walker have unspoken staring contests. Ava always declares the winner

• Bob cries at all the movies, but so do you and Alexei

• Valentina tells them they swear too much for being the new avengers so they start a tally. Each time one of them swears they have to put a tick mark down. At the end of the week the person with the most has to cook or buy dinner for the team. Somehow it ends up being you at least 50% of the time

The bright lights blinded you the first time you walked through New York City; tonight was no different. Flashes of neon whites, golds, blues, reds, lit up your path as you entered the lobby to the Ritz hotel. Your husband had made arrangements for you to meet him in the city much as he had a near 2 years ago during the height of the war. You wanted to meet him at the airport. Crosby insisted he find you at the hotel. And now, with Hitler defeated, he was on his way home. For good. 

His phone call had startled you. Usually, you wrote him weekly, sometimes more if you felt lonesome. Harry’s letters were less frequent, but no less loving. Little Steve kept you more than busy most days, back home safe terrorizing your mother and father while you got some rest and relaxation with your Bing in the big city. The toddler was a shining light in your dark days. He had the same dark curls, the same downturned eyes as his father. A piece of your love that was yours no matter what the war brought - or took.

You’d nearly lost your footing when you heard his voice, gruff and mellow, across the line. Darlin’ it's me, he'd said, I'm coming home but I've got some business to finish in the city, meet me there. I'm bringing Rosie, you remember him yeah? Said he'll take us dancing at the best jazz spots. I love you Mrs. Crosby. See you soon.

Now you wait in the lobby for your love and his friend.

Minutes tick by as you wait. Maybe the plane was late? Maybe they had to meet somewhere after landing to debrief? Maybe there was a problem with the engine? Just as your maybes started to drown out the chatter and bustle around you a voice rang out.

“Well ho-ly mackerel, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes Mrs. Crosby.”

The sight of your husband had you dashing into his waiting arms. Tears streamed down your face as you kissed him senseless over and over and over. Crosby couldn’t contain his laughter at your reaction, nor did he bother hiding it when he wiped his eyes dry. 

“I’ve missed you so much Bing.”

His forehead rested on yours. “God how I’ve missed you too, Darlin’.” 

Over his shoulder you notice a taller man, stylish moustache and curls neatly gelled into place, attempting to avert his eyes and give your reunion privacy. You were struck by how attractive he was. “Bing?”

“Oh!” Harry takes a step back. “Darlin’ this is Robert Rosenthal - or Rosie as us boys like to call him.”

Rosie gives a toothy smile and holds out his hand for a firm shake; “so nice to meet you, Mrs. Crosby. Croz here has told me all about you.”

Giving your husband a raised eyebrow, you ask “all good things I hope?”

Both men chuckle. “Only the best, ma’am.” 

The three of you settled into your rooms before deciding that a celebration was in order. Rosie commandeered the evening, promising only the best jazz New York had to offer. Drinks flowed, the band jived, and couples danced the night away. 

Night after night, Rosie took you somewhere new. You’d split your time whirling the dancefloor between both your husband and his pilot friend, never satisfied until your feet ached. Harry claimed all the slow dances, nestled up close to your body. But Rosie? He got the fast-paced, jumping, hip swaying swing that Crosby claimed he couldn’t keep up with. Two left feet, he’d claim. Each morning after you slept in the plush, luxurious Ritz bed until lunchtime while they attended to their military duties. 

Friday rolled around. It had been a week of this routine. You should’ve been exhausted, you should’ve wanted to slow down - after all you were no spring chicken anymore. Yet, something about being in the arms of your husband and Rosie as you swayed to Duke Ellington, Benny Goodman, and Glen Miller felt so right. 

When the barkeep yelled for “last call” you knew it was time to retire for the evening.

“Say, why don’t you come have a nightcap in our room, Rosie? Crosby asked.

The three of you settle into the living room of the suite assigned to you and your husband. Bing plops into an armchair with a satisfied huff. You join Rosenthal on the loveseat, a respectable distance inbetween. A bottle of whisky sits open on the fireplace mantle. Conversation comes and goes as the trio fall from the high of the night. It’s easy. Almost makes the boys forget the horrors they endured in Europe. 

Around 1am the conversation begins to lull as you finish regaling the group with a story of the shenanigans you and your girlfriends would get up to during university days. “-You think you boys were bad flying all around in your skivvies, but it was nothing compared to us girls that night!” Laughter filled the room until all had let it trickle to a close; the silence was warm like the fireplace embers. Robert sat enraptured by your story, by your beauty, by the thought of you under that blue dress and all your curves. He knew he shouldn’t have noticed…..he was just a man after all. And with the things he’d seen? Could you really blame him?

“How long’s it been Rosie?” The question broke the man’s gaze from you and directed it towards Crosby. He didn’t know it was so obvious. 

Rosie was about to stumble out an answer, an apology for looking at you like that, he doesn’t know, when Croz interrupts again. “When’s the last time you felt the touch of a good woman, Rosie?” Harry waits for an answer. Rosenthal can feel his face heat; he runs his fingers through his hair mussing the curls out of place. This confident Crosby was much bolder than the one he’d met when he first shipped out to the 100th. “Before the war?” There is no judgment in his eyes, no disdain or hesitation towards his comrade as he asks. Rosie shakes his head in affirmation. His glass clinks against the table as he sets it down, whisky unfinished.

Crosby sighs. “Too long.”

“Too damn long…” Rosie agrees in a mumble. 

You sit and watch the boys in rapt attention before meeting Bing's chocolatey eyes. Rosenthal is a good man, a great one from what your husband’s letters proved, and he deserves kindness and softness after all he’s been through. They both do. A delicate hand moves to rest on Rosie’s knee where he sits next to you. His brow furrows. The Major flits his gaze between you and your husband.

In all seriousness Crosby says “It’s alright, I don’t mind.” He tilts his head forward in permission, a silent go ahead. 

The navigator noticed how Rosie looked at you all night, how you returned the glances like a game of chicken. Each admiring but neither willing to do anything about it. How the two of you danced around the club without a care in the world at his insistence. He hadn’t seen Rosie smile like that in ages. He knew you hadn’t laughed like that since before he announced he was heading to the front. You definitely were reveling in the attention of both men tonight. This was never something you had discussed with your husband; somehow you just knew each other well enough even after so long apart to know that it was okay. It was something you both wanted.

Your fingers drifted higher on Rosie’s thigh; not enough to be indecent, but enough to get the message across. His larger palm came to rest atop yours, stopping the movement. “You uh- you’re okay with this?” the Brooklyn native questioned. 

Without hesitation you reassure “I am.” 

In a measured, almost odd approach Rosenthal shifts towards you. His lips hover over your cheek for a moment before the softest kiss brushes your skin. The whiskers of his mustache tickle. You can’t help the grin that threatens to break. He continues to kiss along your cheek, once, twice, thrice, each getting closer to your waiting lips. Finally, his chapped lips meet yours. This kiss is awkward at first as he gathers his bearing, quickly finding a rhythm as if no time had passed since he last kissed a pretty dame.

Crosby sunk deeper into his chair as he watched. He could feel the tell-tale sign of his slacks becoming tighter as he watched his best girl and his best friend. “She loves it when you kiss her neck,” he instructed with that smirk of his. Rosie dragged his lips to your throat. “Little lower-” again he shifted “-right there.” A moan slipped from your parted lips as your body warred with the directions from your husband and the attentions from your lover. 

The room felt stifling. Rosie’s coat, your dress, his shirt, your stockings, his trousers, your brassiere - each fluttered off to the floor one by one. Even Bing had lost his button down. 

The Major guided you onto your back along the couch, trailing open mouthed kisses down your sternum, along your breasts. A moment of clarity passed your mind that your body was different now than the last time you had been made love to, whether by your husband or not, since the baby. Your breasts weren't as pert, your stomach was softer than it used to be. Lips pursed, you let out a small sigh. 

“What’s wrong darlin’?” Bing asked. The navigator leaned towards you, brushing a strand of fallen hair from your face. “You know I can read you better than any map.” Rosie stopped and rested his chin on your abdomen to look up. 

“We can stop,” Rosie offered.

“No, It’s silly…” you tried to brush off.

Both men came to your defense immediately. Looking between the two you finally settle on your husband’s face. “It’s just that… since the last time we saw each other I’m different. My body changed and- I don’t know. I want it to be enough for you. For you both,” you add with a look to Rosie.

Crosby drops from the chair to his knees before you. “My pretty girl.” He kisses you slowly. “We’ve all changed.” From below Rosie adds nothing is the same. “You are still the most beautiful, most incredible, woman I’ve ever seen. Gosh - you’re my wife. Mrs. Crosby! I would fight to the ends of the earth to come home to you.” Softer he adds “I did fight to come home to you… and to bring this flak-happy bastard along too,” he laughed, nudging his elbow at his mate. “Now be a good girl and let us treat you right.” At your nod Rosie resumes his ascent down your waiting body. 

With a flourish your panties are gone, your dripping center exposed to his hungry stare. “What does she like, Croz? Because I'm not stopping until she comes begging all over my tongue.” He licks a deep stripe along your slit. “Sweet as sugar, babydoll.” Gone is the man unsure of himself, and in place is a god amongst men who knows exactly what he wants. It’s all you can do to hold on as Rosie devours you at your husband’s suggestions. Fingers dig into the cushions, tangle into his curls as you writhe under him. 

Rosie puts in his best effort to undo you; your husband saunters up to your face, his pants long forgotten. Cock stiff and ready, dripping with need, he runs the tip of his thumb against your bottom lip. Your teeth nibble at the pad.  “Think you can take me too, darlin’?” A whimpered please is all that comes out.

A cacophony of moans fills the air as your senses are assaulted - Rosie latched to your pussy like a lifeline and your Crosby’s cock deep inside your mouth. “That’s it darlin’, just like that. I bet you missed me, huh? I can tell you did, sweet girl. Fuck I missed you….” 

You gave him everything you had as you licked and sucked at his length. You could have sworn it was bigger than you remembered. He could tell by the look in your eyes you were getting closer, hell he was too. Lord knew he didn’t want to finish like some schoolboy in your lovely mouth. Crosby pulled himself out and you gasped for air. Cheeks flushed and sweat dripping down your temple he turned to his partner. “Use your fingers Rose, drives her wild when you crook them up inside her ‘n don't be afraid to get rough - give her a nip.” He punctuated the end of his command with a nip of his own to your throat. Rosie did exactly as instructed, sending you careening further to the edge and hips bucking.

“Oh- please Rosie- oh god don’t stop-” tumbles out as you start to fall. You swear you feel him humming against your clit as his fingers burn pleasure into your skin.

“That’s it darlin’, just let go for him. Being such a good girl for us,” croons your Bing.

When it all gets too much you gently push him from you. He goes gracefully, dropping chaste kisses to your thighs and hips. Despite feeling like a bowl of jello you remember your purpose tonight - to give Rosie a proper homecoming. 

Sitting up you demand he rid himself of his trousers. 

He grins. “Yes ma’am.” 

Just as Rosie goes to cover your body again you place your hand on his broad chest, pushing until he is in a sitting position. You quickly seat yourself over his lap, his length resting against you. Grinding down, he grunts. “Let me take care of you Rosie, it’s okay.” Kissing his temple, the corner of his mouth, his Adam's apple, you repeat “I want to take care of you dear, let me.”

With another roll of your hips he enters you. He feels different than your husband, but no less wonderful. Rosie’s hands land firmly on your hips as you rock above him. He knows he won't last long, you feel too good. “God Croz how do you do it? She’s so- ugh fuck” he grunts, head tossed back as you squeeze his length. 

“I know, Rose, I know. Just like heaven.” Your husband rubs your back as you move.

Rosenthal buries his face in the crook of your neck, his whimpers muffled so that only you can hear. There are no words for him to describe this feeling: the feeling of being comforted, the feeling of warmth, the feeling of home inside you, even if just for tonight. He almost feels a tear spring to his eyes. Circling your arms around his shoulders you remind him that you’ve got him, that he’s safe, that you're here. You pick up the pace as you ride him, bringing him closer and closer to his fate. His pelvis bucks up to meet yours with every roll.

“Honey I- I’m getting real close.”

You seal your lips on his; “I’ve got you, Rosie. I want you to come for me dear.”

With a deep groan he lifts you off his cock, his spend covering your stomachs and lap in a sticky mess. You hold him as he comes down from his high. 

“That was wonderful, thank you…just, thank you.” You kiss him once more; he knows he doesn’t have to thank you for anything, but he does because he’s Rosie. He carefully cleans you of his come with his discarded undershirt.

Crosby drops his lips to the crown of your head, beginning to pull the pins out of your carefully styled hair. “Come here, Darlin’.” He helps to lift you from his colleagues’ lap. “I wanna make love to my wife.” 

In seconds you’re on the floor under Crosby, his cock already buried to the hilt within you. Neither of you move as you both enjoy the feel of each other reunited as husband and wife. Whispered streams of I love you and I missed you and fuck you feel so good tumble from your lips, barely an inch apart. Harry would never need a map to know the curves, the sensitive spots, the constellations of beauty marks on your body - he knew it better in his memory than any map he could chart.

Besides you on the couch Rosie has slumped over to lay down, his arm hanging off towards you. Every breath of your husband’s puffs against your neck, every tickle of hair from across his chest reminds you that he’s here and he’s alive and he’s yours. Emotion overwhelmed you; “Bing, love please, I need you.”

Crosby hitches your thigh up and around his hip; “I’m here Darlin’.” With that he starts to thrust within your walls. His lithe body moves with a power you had nearly forgotten. Each roll of his hips he pounds into you harder, faster, with abandon; his dog tags cool against your breasts where they hung. Harry was a gentle man, but held so much emotion inside. He could let go with you. 

Your next orgasm was building, hotter and faster than the first. Nails raking down your husband’s back, you reached out your other to grab hold of Rosie’s outstretched palm. The slap of skin echoed around the room, mixed with the crackle of the fire and the sound of heaving breaths. 

An inferno raged within you. Every touch, every movement atop you sent sparks down every nerve ending. You didn’t know where you stopped and your husband began. “Fuck Bing mmmm- Harry please-” The rug beneath you rubbed your back raw but you couldn’t bring yourself to care as long as he kept going.

Crosby had his thumb rubbing quick circles on your clit in an instant. “Tell me you’re close, I need you to come Darlin’.” You couldn’t catch your breath so you nodded the best you could while squeezing the life out of Rosie’s fingers.  

Another snap of his hips and you’re gone, obliterated. Everything felt euphoric and white-hot. Crosby follows suit, his release filling you and your name on his tongue. Bruises will surely linger on your thighs. 

There you lay, tangled in the afterglow, your loving husband above you stroking his knuckles against your side and your new lover’s hand in yours. No words needed to be spoken. The moment you shared would be seared into your mind forever playing on repeat. God forbid another crisis happened that would ship your boys out and away from you - yet if it did you would hold on to tonight like a talisman. It had been a long four years, and longer so for them. But the war was won, with spoils a plenty. 

Finally. 

Lips meeting your Bing’s sweat-slicked forehead, your grip on Rosenthal tightens. “Welcome home my boys, welcome home.”