Work Text:
Natasha had never enjoyed a proper Christmas, the Red room had deemed holidays as such to be useless and counterproductive. She had learned about it to complete a long term undercover mission, but had never had a cause to celebrate it. Until Clint brought her to SHIELD and introduced her to the many festivities she’d missed.
Needless to say, she fell in love with all of them. Except the weird yearly International Clown Fest he'd attended. She assumed that it was a circus tradition and put up with it.
That is, until a creepy clown jumped out at her in the middle of the abandoned side alley she went into to answer a call from Coulson, and where she'd nearly had a fucking heart attack. From then on, she blatantly refused to go, paying no regard whatsoever to Clint's incessant begging.
But Christmas, Christmas was one of the greatest inventions ever thought of. Once Clint had realised that she’d never celebrated Christmas, he literally dragged her to browse through every shop that lined Fifth Avenue and Madison Square Park and maxed out Fury’s credit card (Which he'd filched the day before) buying what he considered "the complete christmas essentials pack".
On Christmas eve that year, the two of them could be spotted sneaking throughout the Triskelion, laden with countless evergreens. Strategically placing each Christmas tree in the many nooks and crannies around SHIELD, they dragged rolls upon rolls of tinsel to drape all over the trees, leaving trails of glitter and abandoned pieces all over the immaculate cyan floor. Setting up certain pathways in the air vents, they deposited baubles at designated spots. Natasha had wisely decided not to buy glass baubles and opted instead for the more durable plastic ones.
They’d spent the whole night wrapping gifts and adding final touches to the decorations around the complex. Considering its size, they had enlisted help from their strike team and a whole bunch of admin staff (who were surprisingly good liars) but it was still a miracle that they managed to pull it off. Needless to say, it was the best Christmas many of the agents have had, and both of them found themselves on the receiving end of huge lecture about “Misuse of SHIELD resources” and being threatened to be benched from missions for half a year from Fury, but the upwards twitch of his lips as they left proved that he wasn’t actually that irked. They had been fondly referred to as Strike Team Santa for years afterwards.
Steve, on the other hand remembers Christmas back in the 1920’s.
Bitterly cold nights accompanied with the lack of money, threadbare clothes and an empty fireplace had left him with a downtrodden spirit. Until he met Bucky.
The chill and lonely howl of the raging snowstorm replaced with hot chocolate and warmth by the roaring fire. The chill and ravenous gnawing hunger diminishing with the company and Christmas cheer. Platefuls of food passed around, loaded with homemade mince pies, cookies and other Christmassy foods. The crumbly grainy feel of biscuits and flaky buttery texture of pies coupled with the happy chattering of both their families and the arm slung around his shoulder was firmly engraved into his memory. Along with the promise of “You’re welcome anytime.” that warmed his heart more than a thousand fires ever could.
70 years later, Steve was determined to celebrate Christmas the old fashioned way. Not like the current franchised, money-centred celebrations that occurred.
Since he’d been defrosted, Natasha has been appointed as his “bringing up to date” mentor and upon learning of his plan, she was determined to make this the most memorable Christmas he’d ever had. They’d been partners for nearly a year now, and he considered her a close trusted friend, more than merely just a colleague. He lived down the hall from her, and being neighbours definitely had it’s perks. Enjoying many conversations in the apartment hallway, in the field, on Quinjets, he’d grown to enjoy her company.
“Agent Romanoff, I appreciate the offer, but I think I can be more “Christmassy” than you can ever hope to be” he smirked confidently, secretly enjoying the friendly banter that was now common between them.
“I’ll take that challenge, and make you take those words back…” She swore, already silently plotting away. Steve was obviously unaware of her reputation. It'd been years since she’d had a chance to go all out for Christmas. Grinning, she returned to her apartment and started brewing coffee.
Goodbye sleep and hello brainstorming.
Steve’s POV:
*A few weeks later*
Natasha struck first. On the 13st of December, Steve woke up to find a fruit basket, with pears as one of the main components, set upon his bedside table. Blinking away the remnants of sleep, he spied a note next to it, reading,
“I’m not getting you a partridge. But here’s some pears anyways. And I’m gonna win ;) ~Nat P.S You should have heard of the 12 days of Christmas…right?”
He ran a frustrated hand through his hair and sighed, knowing that this meant war.
It went on for another week. He would find little presents lying throughout his apartment, fitting the 12 days of Christmas.
Steve had no idea how she was getting into his apartment and managing to leave without him waking up. When he confronted her, the only response tossed over her shoulder was “You should really upgrade your security.”
Turning the key in the keyhole, he pushed the door open, only to be greeted with a burst of confetti to the face. Least to say he was not impressed with that one. He spent the whole of that afternoon vacuuming tiny confetti pieces out of his carpet and yet still he manages to find the annoying minuscule pieces of paper dotted about his apartment for the remainder of the week. Worst of all, each piece of confetti had a picture of him with a santa hat on; he had no idea how she’d managed to find a manufacturer, but this was getting out of hand. Still, she hadn’t been too taken by the idea of Captain America as the National Hero and all, being portrayed as an inanimate object, unlike the rest of the world, and he admired her for it.
Another morning, Steve walked bleary eyed into the living room, only to be faced with a mass of blue, red and white decorations. It took him a while to realise that it was actually a Christmas tree, with the green branches being barely visible. Drenched in glittery blue and white tinsel, hung with innumerable candy canes, ribbons and bows, the poor conifer was groaning under the strain and practically on the point of tipping over.
Walking closer, and examining the multitudes of cerulean berries, sparkly silver and red holly leaves embedded artistically within the branches, Steve inwardly cursed at the amount of effort he must make in order to top this. Each delicate teardrop shaped baubles, each strand of bubble lights, were carefully hand placed. He could imagine her carefully balancing on her toes, wrapping the tree in coils of beads and tinsel, dangling each ornament carefully on it before placing the crystal studded shield on top, reflecting specks of light all around the room, and it seemed like it was taunting him. A crystal glazed version of him that the media had assumed, was his character.
And the next day, an array of bright strings of fairy lights are hung from his balcony, weaved together, making it almost look like a wall of light. The fluorescent lights flash at an irregular frantic pace; an epileptic fit waiting to happen he thought to himself with a shake of his head. If there’s one thing that he’s learnt about Natasha since the start of their unofficial christmas showdown, it’s that she doesn’t do anything half-assed when it comes to decorations. The woman certainly knew how to achieve a sensory overload, he’ll give her that.
It’s time he struck back.
Which resulted in him standing in front of Natasha’s door, at 3am in the morning, with a basket full of mistletoe and holly. Lathering copious amounts of superglue onto her dark oak door.
The next morning, Steve was woken by an annoyed exclamation from further down the hall. Grinning to himself, he rolled over and placed a pillow over his head, expecting her to come barging in any minute.
“STEVEN GRANT ROGERS! YOU OWE ME A NEW DOOR!”
He ended up buying her a new door, but purposely requested that it be made out of a mixture of Holly and Mistletoe tree wood. She appeared annoyed, but Steve thought that he could see the underlying amusement and fondness underneath and in the slight tweak of her lips
The miniature Poinsettia he discovers on his windowsill is both surprising and sweet. The minuscule plant is barely the size of the first knuckle of his thumb, and if it weren’t for his keen senses and observational skills he might’ve missed it. His surprise at the gift causes an amused laugh to escape him as he holds it carefully in the palm of his hand. Just when he thought he was beginning to understand Natasha Romanoff she goes and does something like this. Where on earth did she even manage to find herself such a tiny plant he marvels as he stares at the adorably cute plant. Turning the plant over, he chuckled as he spied the tiny shield painted on the bottom. Her obsession with his shield was amusing and adorable.
Returning from a simple touch and go mission, the first thing he saw was a bottle of wine and two glasses on the coffee table.
He laughs as he reads the label.
Two words inscribed in fancy silver calligraphy.
Blueberry wine.
Natasha’s POV:
Freshly baked gingerbread. There is gingerbread on the kitchen counter. Why the fuck is there gingerbread?
Oh, right. Steve.
She had been woken up by the tantalising smell of cinnamon and spices, which lead to her following it into the living room. Her eyes immediately drawn to the perfectly baked gingerbread cookies on a pristine white plate. A square piece of paper pinned under the plate of delicious smelling goods and she can almost see the self satisfied smirk on his face as she reads the perfect looping calligraphy.
“Try not to eat it all at once.”
She should feel annoyed. But she can’t.
Some kind of super spy she is.
He’d matched her, one after another, yet managed to pull something that’s completely different yet so…….Steve. One day it would be a hearty traditional christmas lunch, complete with cheese fondue and christmas pudding, while others would be little old fashioned gifts that she’d really appreciated.
But the best by far, was an ornate nutcracker painted in vivid reds and golds, that perched on the edge of her mantle. Shoulders stiff and standing in perfect attention. His uniform polished and smooth, with eyes as blue as Steve’s. She held it in her arms, the scent laced in the clear coating brought back memories of snow falling onto the tall spires of St. Petersburg church and the harsh familiarity of Russia. Closing her eyes, a little red-headed girl dancing on an empty stage, swept away by the music, emerges in her mind.
Third person POV:
Through their windows, you could just feel the amount of christmas cheer and festive joy present. Their christmas made extra special because of each other.