Tony squinted over the rim of his glass of rum, puzzling over the sight before him. True, since Steve had started living in Stark Tower, he had favored the couch by the window, and he spent much of his free time drawing in his sketchbook.

But something about this whole situation was off. Tony would know ― Cap had been sharing a penthouse with him and Pepper for six months.

Of course, it was not as though he was the only Avenger to frequent Stark Tower. Ever since the Battle of New York, the place had become a temporary living space for the heroes whenever they needed somewhere to crash, and they came and went as they pleased. On any given day, Pepper might come home to find Natasha or Clint passed out on the living room couch, newly returned from a mission. Thor, though he rarely visited due to his duties in Asgard, was always a welcome guest on his visits to Earth, and Bruce popped in every Friday for a "lab date" with Tony.

Steve Rogers, though, was different from all of his partners in battle. He had no known relatives or friends besides the Avengers, and nowhere else to stay in between his SHIELD missions. For him, Stark Tower was more than a calm place to relax. It was a familiar symbol of the only life he had lived since he had awakened in the twenty-first century. The people were familiar there, its location in downtown New York City a constant reminder of his old life. It was home.

Tony couldn't complain ― Steve was no freeloader. He was a fantastic handyman, he had assumed Pepper's former responsibility of managing any necessary staff, and he watched the Tower when business called the two of them to the Malibu estate. He worked out in the morning, always giving Pepper a chuckle when she saw him doing curl-ups from the ceiling rafters, and enjoyed baking and drawing when he wasn't off fighting bad guys.

No, there was certainly was nothing in the scene before Tony Stark's perceptive eyes to outwardly suggest any trouble. But he could tell that something was deeply bothering his muscular friend. For over three weeks, he had been curiously inactive, spending much of each day staring out of the window into the gray winter sky, his sketchpad lying open on his lap as he sat on the couch by the floor-to-ceiling windows. His blue eyes had become melancholy, no longer showing his customary energy. It irked Tony to no end; all deviations from the status quo of his existence bothered him, and whatever issues Steve was having were definitely messing with the status quo.

The sharp click of heels met Tony's ears, interrupting his close study of the inconvenience du jour. Moments later, Pepper appeared, pristinely dressed in a white coat and scarf, and walked behind the bar counter to give Tony a peck.

"I'm off to the grocery," she announced briskly, shouldering the purse that sat on the countertop beside them.

"Do you have to?" Tony asked, eyebrows quirked in the usual contrary way. "Because I'm pretty sure I hired people for the express purpose of doing that sort of thing for you."

Pepper smiled, bemused.

"Tony, it's Christmas in two days. You gave those 'people' you hired a vacation until two days after New Year's. And, " she silenced him promptly when she saw his mouth begin to open in protest. "The last time I checked, we are going to have a house full of Avengers and Jane starting tomorrow. I have a feeling that they can put away a lot of food in two weeks, Tony."

Tony closed his eyes, heaving a longsuffering sigh from the depths of his soul.

"I am so benevolent. Remind me to be less so."

He gasped theatrically.

"Oh, but wait! There is one more act of benevolence I must perform. Jarvis!"

"Yes, sir?" the Artificial Intelligence unit watching over the Tower responded in his smooth British accent.

"Talk with Pepper about what she needs from the store. Order it ―"

"No, no ― Jarvis!" Pepper cut in.

"Yes, Miss Potts?"

She smiled.

"No need to bother, Jarvis. I have the situation well in hand. Tony's just being a little…difficult," she finished pointedly.

"One of his habitual tendencies, Miss Potts.'

Tony glared at the ceiling before he returned his eyes to Pepper, whose smile became warm and tender.

"Tony, it's Christmas. I want to go to the store. I want to buy the food and decorations. Christmas isn't about hired help putting together an elaborate production. It's a labor of love."

Tony huffed to show that he was not pleased, but he didn't argue with her. Pepper gave him a quick squeeze, knowing she had won this round.

"Think of it this way," she said. "How would you feel if someone else were hired to build your suits?"

"Point made," he conceded. "Except for the fact that no one actually could, which, I would like to point out, is a major flaw in your argument."

She laughed lightly as she pulled back.

"I'm going to the store now, Tony."

She began to move away, but Tony caught her.

"Hold on there, Martha Stewart. You can't possibly leave me alone with…" He jerked his head in the direction of Cap, who still sat on the couch, completely oblivious to their conversation. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Well, that!"

"You've been alone with Steve hundreds of times, Tony."

Tony sighed impatiently, rolling his eyes.

"Pepper, you know exactly what I'm talking about. Something has been troubling Cap's fragile little psyche for weeks. He hasn't been using outdated expletives, he's barely worked out ― look at him! You can practically see his muscles atrophying as we speak."

A thoughtful look appeared on Pepper's face as she turned to study the soldier in their living room.

"You're right," she finally conceded. "He's not himself at all. But…"

She faced Tony again, smiling once more.

"That's no reason to keep me home."

Giving him another peck, she adjusted her purse on her shoulder before striding out of the room and toward the elevator.

"But dealing with feelings is your thing!" he called after her. "And Cap is clearly having feelings!"

She kept walking. Realizing that his window of opportunity was swiftly closing, Tony carefully set his rum on a coaster before running to catch her at the door.

"Pepper, I need you to fix this!"

Stepping into the elevator, she turned and held her hand in the door to talk to him. A faint glimmer of mischief danced in her eyes.

"Tony," she said gently, but firmly. "I will not be able fix the problem just by staying home. While I'm gone, why don't you try to figure out what's on his mind? After all, you are the genius, and this is your tower."

Pepper removed her hand and stepped back into the elevator car. As the doors began to glide shut, she let out an amused laugh.

"This is only twelve percent of my problem."

Tony's eyes narrowed. He was conscious of a muted sense of loathing coursing through his mind as he glared at the polished metal doors. Six months after the fact, he was still paying for his careless remark in ways that were decidedly not so subtle.

Hands in his pockets, Tony meandered back to the living room and bar, pondering how best to approach the issue at hand now that the resident expert on emotions had left the building. There was no doubt that the tenuous friendship between himself and Steve had strengthened in many ways since the Battle of New York, and the pair now held a bizarre, unspoken sort of mutual respect for each other. But mutual understanding of one another…that was another bag of cats altogether.

He came to a stop as Steve came back into full view. There he sat, sketchpad on lap, staring out of the window as intently as ever. Tony studied the situation a moment longer, deep in thought. Then, his face lit up with a mischievous grin.

An understanding of Steve Rogers was what he needed, and an understanding he would get. Tony quietly approached his target, plastering the most repentant expression he could muster on his face.

"Hey, Cap."

The greeting seemed to jolt Steve from his dream world. He turned his head to give Tony a small smile.

"How's it going, Stark?"

His smile quickly faded when he saw Tony's face, which was devoid of all of its usual jovial cynicism. He shifted his whole body to get a better look at his friend, who looked like he was horribly upset by something.

"You look like you've been through it, Tony. What's eating you? Anything I can do?"

Tony passed a weary hand through his hair, sighing loudly as he let it fall.

"I really don't know how to break this to you, Cap, but…"

Steve raised his eyebrows expectantly, suddenly wary of what was coming next.

"But?"

"Your mint-condition baseball glove, the one signed by Carl Erskine ―"

Steve's entire facial expression darkened.

"Stark ―"

"I took it out of your sock drawer ― your socks are absurdly long, by the way ―"

"Stark ―"

"And I brought it down to the lab, thinking I would take a picture of it on my new suit."

Steve was no longer making eye contact with Tony. He was bracing himself for the fate of his beloved baseball glove, one of the only things SHIELD had been able to return to him from his life in the 1940s.

"And then what, Stark?"

"Then? Well, then, I ah ― the Mark IX may have spilled my adult beverage all over it."

Steve's head fell into his hands. He took a slow, deep breath, as if summoning every ounce of goodwill in his soul. When his blue eyes met Tony's brown ones again, they were sad, but a tiny, resigned smile rested on his lips.

"Well," he said quietly, closing his sketchbook and placing it on the glass coffee table before him. He rose to his feet, and sighed wearily. "I, uh, guess I'd better go and inspect the damage."

When Steve had finally gone down the stairs to the lab, Tony shot toward the coffee table, a gleeful smirk playing on his face.

Brain, you've done it again.

In reality, Tony had not so much as looked at Cap's prized baseball glove since he moved into Stark Tower. In fact, he hadn't even known for sure that Steve hid it in his sock drawer for safekeeping ― he only knew that Cap was definitely not the type to risk leaving it out. All Tony had really wanted was a chance to get at Rogers' sketchbook.

He had learned over the course of Steve's stay, thanks to some very stealthy peeking, that the thing was practically Cap's man-diary. It was one of his only possessions that he kept a secret, because he used it as a canvas for the things that stirred his heart most.

Tony picked up the leather-bound book and began flipping through the pages. As expected, he found many pictures of soldiers in uniform, enjoying themselves at a bar in Europe or enjoying a rare moment of relaxation in the barracks. Pictures of New York City, both as it appeared in Steve's youth and in the current day, appeared with almost as much frequency. A smile began to stretch across Tony's face as his gaze fell upon more recent pages, where Steve had sketched each of the Avengers with great attention to detail. He had perfectly captured the superhuman strength of Thor, the feline grace of the Black Widow. He was aware of a real fondness for Steve spreading through his hear when he came across a picture of himself with his arms around Pepper, smiling happily up at the night sky from the Stark Tower balcony.

His smile disappeared, however, when he reached the portrait of a woman he had never seen before. The eyes of the woman in the picture were big and brown, her dark hair elegantly waved in the 1940s fashion. Her expression was intense, determined ― the look of a woman who suffered no nonsense. Looking at the bottom right corner of the page, Tony found the word "Peggy" written in a careful cursive script, with the date, "November 22nd, 2012," immediately underneath. Steve had drawn this on Thanksgiving.

His curiosity piqued, Tony turned to another page ― December 8th, 2012. This time, the picture Steve had drawn was not that of a beautiful young woman, though a woman was depicted in the scene. It appeared to be a tiny living room, completely decked out for Christmas. Candles glowed on the sills of the small windows, snow falling heavily outside. The fireplace, covered in holly, bathed the pleasantly dimmed room with a warm glow, a simple holly wreath hanging on the wall over a worn red loveseat. Bubble lights, tinsel, and popcorn strings adorned a tree that was almost too tall for the room.

When Tony's eyes fell upon the woman in a faded apron teetering on a footstool, trying her hardest to crown the tree with an angel, the gears in his mind began to turn. She had blonde hair the same shade as Cap's that was tied back in a messy bun, and telltale blue eyes that were narrowed in a look of determination that Tony had seen often ― just on another face.

Tony flipped quickly through more and more Christmas scenes from Steve's youth before coming to a stop on December 22nd, 2012, yesterday's drawing. In it, the young woman from Cap's Thanksgiving portrait, whom Tony could only assume was "Peggy," was dressed in a stunning evening gown, her dark hair falling easily around her shoulders. She was beaming, her eyes scrunched up in laughter in an expression that was a far cry from what it was in the earlier picture.

She was dancing with Cap.

Looking dashing in his dress blues, Steve was twirling Peggy effortlessly, a giant, goofy grin on his face. They appeared to be dancing in a larger version of the Christmas living room in which Steve had drawn his mother, the holiday decorations even bigger and brighter than before. In the bottom right-hand corner, he read the title Steve had written: "One Swell Dance Partner."

All at once, everything fell into place in Tony's mind. All of Steve's strange behavior, his constant moping ― it all made sense.

Steve Rogers missed Christmas. He missed the Christmas of his boyhood, with all of the old-fashioned decorations, the music, and the food. Most of all, he missed the family he spent it with, both the woman who was his family by blood, and the woman he had wanted to make his family.

Tony dropped the sketchbook back on the table as fast as if it had burned him when he heard Steve's footsteps coming back up the stairs from the laboratory. The soldier's voice echoed up the passage.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Tony," Steve said as he entered the room. "My Erskine mitt is nowhere down there."

"Oh, good!" Tony sighed in relief, not missing a beat as he swiftly passed Steve on his way down the stairs. "Must have been Banner's. I've got some work to do, Rogers. You have free reign of the television."

Steve stared after Tony long after he disappeared, his eyes narrowed in confusion.

"I thought Banner hated baseball."

"Gentlemen ―"

"And Jane!"

Tony shut his eyes briefly, attempting to keep his annoyance in check.

"Yes, Thor. And Jane, and Natasha ― I understand that there are women present, but the point is that I'm addressing everyone, because everyone will be playing a part in this highly sensitive mission of stealth and intrigue."

Natasha rolled her eyes.

"Somehow, I feel like the definition of 'highly sensitive' applied here is―"

Tony snapped his fingers and pointed at her accusingly, silencing the caustic remark.

"You promised me, Nat. No sassing until I'm done assigning duties for Operation Bubble Light."

The Avengers ― and Jane, as Thor had been so vocal in pointing out ― were all scattered about the living room of Stark Tower, awaiting a briefing on Tony's mysterious Christmas scheme. The only one missing was Steve, who was helping Pepper decorate several floors up. Thor occupied much of the sofa in front of the coffee table, with Jane wedged between him and one of its arms. They had all tried to convince her to sit somewhere that would actually permit her ribs to expand, but she had been unshakeable, for which Thor was grateful. Bruce sat placidly in the armchair, ironically lending a sense of calm to the scene with his placid smile, and Natasha had situated herself comfortably on its arm. Perched on the mantel piece with one knee cocked was Clint, his other leg dangling absently as he listened to Tony lay out his plan.

"The thing is," Tony went on as Natasha sighed loudly. "Our captain isn't himself. Hasn't been since the start of the holiday season."

"Is he sick?' Clint asked with a smirk. "Because he looked fine to me when he was lifting that fifteen-foot Christmas tree."

"Yeah, he really looks great!"

Jane's cheeks flushed a deep red when everyone turned to look at her.

"I'm sorry, I didn't ― I just meant ― nevermind."

"Yes, Rogers is just as obscenely muscular as ever, everyone," Tony continued, sparing Jane from prolonged embarrassment. "He's not sick. Not physically."

A kinder tone came into his voice.

"But our captain is very, very homesick. And we're going to fix that."

Low murmurs could be heard from everyone as they tried to decipher what Tony meant. Not shockingly, Thor was the one to speak up.

"But, Friend Stark," he interjected. "How do you propose to bring the Captain Rogers to his home? Even with the help of my brother's most cunning magical tricks, we could not travel across time."

"No worries, Big Man," Tony responded with a grin. "We won't be attempting any Back to the Future stunts today. We are going to bring a 1940s Christmas to Stark Tower. And we're going to do it by tonight."

The excitement that began to spread through the room was almost tangible. Her eyebrows raised, Natasha stood and crossed her arms.

"Well, you've got my attention, Stark. I'm in."

Thor nodded.

"If Jane and I can contribute anything to this venture, we will see it done. The Captain is our friend."

"And you have my axe!"

The gleeful smile on Bruce's face fell a little when no one laughed.

"Seriously? Nobody?"

"What's the plan, Stark?" Clint asked from his perch.

Tony clapped his hands together and rubbed them as if conjuring up his own magic.

"I thought you'd never ask. One-Horse Open Sleigh," he pointed at Thor. "and Barton. The three of us are on food detail. With the help of the might oracle Google, we will be preparing as much delicious, traditional Christmas fare as possible. And sampling some hard eggnog, but that's beside the point."

He walked around the room until he stood behind Bruce's chair. Bending gown, he grabbed the gamma radiation scientist by the shoulders.

"You, my festive green friend, are going to keep Steve out of the house all day until 9:00 exactly."

Bruce's jaw dropped.

"Whoa, whoa. What? You want me to spend an entire day roaming the most highly populated city in America with the weight of this whole deal on my back? Why can't Pepper do it?"

"Don't worry, I'll get to that," Tony explained, smiling at the discomfort he was obviously causing his good friend.

Clint smirked. "Better come up with some ideas for your play date, Banner."

While Bruce reconciled himself to the fact that he was going to have to be in public for an extended period of time, Tony strode back to his original position, gesturing toward Natasha and Jane.

"And you ladies," he said, coming to a stop. "You will have perhaps the most important duty of all."

"Me?" Jane asked, incredulous.

"This should be interesting," Natasha remarked, casting a pointed sideways glance in the direction of the awkward astrophysicist.

"Your job today is to make yourselves as beautiful as possible. New dress, makeover, manicures, pedicures ― they're all on me. And, if you don't know how to do it already, teach yourselves to swing dance. Pepper will be joining you."

Jane went into full panic mode.

"But ― but I can't learn how to do that in one day! I'm less coordinated with stuff like that than ― than my intern with scientific equipment!"

Natasha shrugged.

"I'll teach her. And Pepper, too, if she needs it. What's this all about, Stark?"

"Cap used to dance with his girl back in the day. He hasn't had much opportunity to mingle with pretty women since he woke up, if you know what I mean."

For the first time, Natasha smiled. "Got it. Happy to help."

Tony smiled, taking a deep breath. "In that case, I have covered everything we need to ensure that this Christmas celebration goes exactly according to plan. Everyone except Bruce, be back here at 6:00 to help with decorations."

Bruce shut his eyes, running a hand through his dark curls. He shook his head in disbelief at his situation.

"Well, this is going to be a fun Christmas Eve."

Raucous laughter rang through the elevator of Stark Tower at 8:57 that evening. Steve clapped Bruce on the back and collapsed against the elevator wall, noticeably shaking the car. This only served to make the two of them laugh louder.

"Wow," Bruce said as soon as he could breathe. "You know, before today, I was almost under the impression that SHIELD had injected some chip in your head that zapped you every time you started to enjoy yourself."

Steve, who had quickly regained his breath, smiled.

"What can I say? I'm an old geezer, and I don't understand all you young people and your newfangled sense of humor."

He pushed off the elevator wall so he was standing upright next to Bruce.

"You're some pal, Banner. You know that?"

Bruce gave a small, but genuine smile.

"Thanks, Steve. That means a lot, it really does. But to be fair, I don't know many people who would agree to go Christmas shopping all day with ― well, me. And everything I, uh…bring with me."

Rogers put a hand on his shoulder and held Banner's eyes sincerely with his own.

"I am honored that you would even ask me to come."

A smooth electronic ringing tone announced that they would soon reach the penthouse floor, cutting their conversation short. Before the elevator could get there, however, Steve suddenly stepped forward, flipping the elevator's manual power switch off. The car was plunged in darkness for a moment until the foot lights turned themselves on.

"Steve?" Bruce asked, concerned. This spontaneous action, and the sad look that had entered his friend's downcast blue eyes, were not like Rogers at all. "What's the problem?"

Taking a deep breath, Steve finally met Bruce's wary gaze.

"If you want to know the honest truth, Banner," he began. "Ever since I woke up in that SHIELD facility, I haven't felt like I've had a friendship ― a real friendship, not just one that the government made for me ― with anyone. Of course, I'm incredibly grateful to Tony and Pepper for taking me in, they've been real sports about the whole thing, but…I look around, and I can't help feeling that the world has decided that there's no room for friendship the way people used to see it."

He tore his eyes away from Banner's and leaned up against the wall again, speaking at the floor.

"In my day, if you weren't off fighting a war, you came home for Christmas. You wanted to take the time to be together with your family, your girl, and your friends. But now, it's all about getting the job done. Sure, there's plenty of room for Captain America to come and save the day…but there's no room and no time for Steve Rogers, who just wants to sit down with the world and catch up on everything he's missed."

The silence that followed Steve's words was long and deafening. Finally, after what seemed like an hour, Bruce spoke.

"You know, Steve…I get that. When people find out about the Other Guy…they don't see Bruce Banner anymore. I'm either a weapon or a threat. And no one wants to take the time to stop and talk to either of those things."

Steve looked up, listening intently for what Bruce would say next.

"But I think both of us have more real friends and real family than you think."

Nodding slowly, Steve stood up completely, a small smile lighting his face.

"Bruce, I'll level with you. Before today, I didn't know you too well. And I'll admit, when I woke up this morning, I wasn't expecting to spend my day going Christmas shopping with the Hulk."

As he reached out to flip the manual power switch back on, he slung a brotherly arm around Banner's shoulders.

"But I'm sure glad I did. You're a real pal, Bruce Banner."

As the elevator began the last few feet of its ascent, Bruce checked his watch ― 9:00. He smiled. This Christmas party was going to be everything Steve needed.

When the elevator doors glided open, the sound of Frank Sinatra's rendition of "I'll Be Home for Christmas" immediately met the soldier's ears. As Bruce ushered him into the hall, which was decked with a ridiculous amount of holly and Christmas lights, Steve smiled.

"That's a really swell decorating job Pepper did there," he remarked. "Reminds me of what how my Ma used to do it when I was a ―"

As he rounded the corner, Steve Rogers was rooted to the spot.

"Merry Christmas, Steve!" a small chorus of voiced cheered.

All words were stolen from him. He could not believe what he was seeing. Before him was not the penthouse living room of Stark Tower, but a grander version of the living room in which he had grown up. The electric lights had been turned off, replaced with the warm, cozy glow of a roaring fire and the clusters of candles that covered every flat surface. The modern stainless steel and leather couches had disappeared, replaced with two red loveseats. Holly hung from the walls and adorned the bar table, which was laden with more gingerbread, candy canes, and pumpkin pies than Steve had ever seen. A Christmas tree shining with tinsel stood proudly in the corner. Easily fifteen feet tall, it was decorated with popcorn strings and what must have been Gimbles' entire stock of bubble lights, a cherubic angel crowning the top.

Steve slowly entered the room, afraid to walk too quickly for fear that he would find himself waking up in another SHIELD facility. Over the fireplace hung a simply holly wreath, and over the holly wreath hung a brilliant red and green banner with gold letters that read, "WELCOME HOME, STEVE."

It was several minutes before Steve remembered that there were other people in the room. When he finished gaping at the snowstorm outside, which seemed to be falling on Stark Tower alone, he saw Bruce take his place next to the other Avenger men, who all stood by the bar, smiling merrily as they watched him. Clint, wearing a green turtleneck and khakis, stood between Tony, who sported a dapper red suitcoat, and Thor who clearly had gotten into the Christmas spirit with his bright scarlet Santa Clause coat and hat.

Before he had a chance to speak, Thor took one mighty step forward, and captured him in a rib-crushing hug.

"We were told that you longed for the feasting hall of your youth, Friend Rogers," he boomed cheerily before releasing the Captain for air.

"Yes," Steve's voice caught in his throat. "Yes, Thor, I certainly did."

Thor, hearing the emotion in Steve's voice, bent down to study his face. His brows quickly furrowed in concern.

"Why do you weep, Friend Rogers?" his face fell. "Is it not to your liking?"

Steve let out a watery laugh as he hastily wiped his eyes.

"No, Thor," he said with a smile. "This is some dynamite Christmas gift you guys put together."

Beaming, Thor clapped Steve on the back, nearly pitching him forward.

"That is most joyous to hear, indeed! But your thanks should go to the Man of Iron. Though I would like to mention that I created the snowstorm, he brought us together for this endeavor."

Steve's jaw hit the floor.

"Stark ― Tony?" He finally managed to splutter, incredulous. "But how did you of all people ―"

Tony shrugged.

"Oh, you know," he said nonchalantly. "The usual. Big fat guy on a sleigh, little people with pointy shoes, a baseball glove…"

Steve was obviously confused.

"A baseball glove? But ―"

It finally clicked.

"I left my sketchbook upstairs! Stark, you know that you can't―"

"Anytime, Cap."

Steve's anger could not last long, because Thor thrust a gingerbread cookie into his mouth before he had a chance to say anything else. It was a sufficient distraction from the breach in privacy.

When Steve had finished chewing, he looked around at the room again, sighing happily as he strolled over to the fireplace. He turned in a circle to face his friends again ― and realized that something very important was missing.

He looked at Tony.

"Where's Pepper? And Natasha and Jane?"

Tony shared a mischievous glance with the other men, smirking proudly to himself.

"Where, indeed?"

He cleared his throat loudly.

"Ladies! I think we're ready for you!"

The click of three pairs of heels on the stairwell heralded the arrival of the three visions of loveliness that came into view one by one. Jane appeared first, her smile shy and bashful, but excitement evident in her eyes. She tripped once ― it was clear that she did not walk in heels very often ― but quickly recovered herself, her sparkling icicle-blue dress seeming to lend her a new kind of confidence. Tony whistled when Pepper entered behind her, her velvet green dress offsetting her flaming red hair perfectly. But when the Black Widow entered the room in a stunning scarlet evening gown, all eyes were immediately drawn to her. The cut of the gown perfectly complemented her bombshell figure, as always. A playful smirk danced on her lips as she came to a stop beside the others.

Steve let out his breath in a long sigh.

"You ladies sure look sharp tonight," he remarked, ever the gentleman. "But why'd you get all dolled up for such a little party? You hardly get to show off your spiffy new dresses."

Pepper glanced at the other girls before coming forward to take Steve's hand, looking kindly up into his eyes.

"Steve, we know that even though you might not say very much about her, you left someone very important behind when you made your sacrifice. We know you miss her, and we will never be able to truly understand what you must feel, especially at a time of year that's all about being with the ones you love."

He simply nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He's already gotten all mushy once, he wouldn't do it again.

"But we want you to know that even though the one you loved can't be here with you, that doesn't mean you're alone."

She gestured for Jane and Natasha to join her in front of Steve, smiling widely as Jane spoke.

"And it definitely doesn't mean you've lost a dance partner."

"In fact," Natasha added. "The way I see it, you're a lucky man, Rogers. You've gained three."

Steve couldn't help it; he was getting choked up again. He looked to the men for a distraction. They only grinned.

"You've got your pick, Rogers," Clint said jovially. "Nat spent all day teaching the two of them how to dance."

"Mind that you don't steal Jane away with your skill on the floor, Captain Rogers!" Thor called.

Steve's face flushed a deep red as he looked at the women before him. He had always wanted to learn how to dance, and never would he have dreamed that three women would want to dance with him!

However, in that moment, a horrible realization struck him, making his face turn an even deeper shade of red. They all assumed he knew what he was doing, but Steve had never danced in his life. Tony had flipped through his sketchbook, seen his drawings of Peggy dancing with him, and drawn the conclusion that he was some sort of Fred Astaire.

And the girls had spent all day practicing…

Embarrassment flooded the pit of his stomach.

"I'm, uh, really honored, everyone," Steve said finally, his mouth suddenly dry. "But Peggy and I, we…we never danced. I always dreamed we would, but we never did. The last time we talked, she said she would, uh ― teach me if…if I made it."

Everyone fell silent. Steve was lost in embarrassment, and everyone else felt tremendously guilty for having stirred up such a memory with their blunder. But Natasha stepped in, her voice as cool and reassuring as ever.

"I spent all morning teaching Pepper and Jane how to swing dance," she said. "I can teach you just as easily."

The entire room seemed to breathe again. Steve looked seriously at her, genuine surprise and gratitude in his eyes.

"Are you sure, Miss Romanoff? I might end up being a dead hoofer, you know, and I don't want to step on your brand new dress ―"

"Steve," she stopped him. "You've waited seventy years for a dance partner. It's the least I can do for a captain who's never steered me wrong."

She permitted herself a small smile.

"And I've found from experience that men with skill in hand-to-hand combat tend to make the best dance partners."

Three hours later, everyone had ended up joining Steve and Natasha on the dance floor, though the swing dancing had gradually devolved into swaying for everyone else as the night wore on. Jane was swallowed up in Thor's arms, her head just peeking out over his bicep. Tony held Pepper close, her chin resting on his shoulder as they talked softly. Clint and Bruce, who had each taken a turn with all three of the ladies on the floor, now lounged on one of the loveseats with some pumpkin pie and some hard eggnog, laughing at what was undoubtedly some new off-color joke about Nick Fury.

Natasha chuckled to herself as Steve twirled her around again. He smiled as he caught her.

"You know, I always did like to see a pretty lady laugh."

She rolled her eyes.

"Watch it, Rogers."

He shrugged, laughing lightly.

"All right, all right. I hear you loud and clear, ma'am."

Several minutes of comfortable silence passed as they listened contentedly to the soft murmuring of the voices around them ― and the loud guffaws of Bruce and Clint on the loveseat. Finally, Natasha spoke.

"Bruce told me what you said in the elevator. About friendship, and family."

"He did, did he?"

Natasha met Steve's eyes seriously.

"Look around, Steve. What do you see?"

His eyes surveyed the quiet room. He saw two assassins, a god and his astrophysicist girlfriend, a genius and his manager, and a radioactive gamma radiation scientist. But they were more than that, just as Steve was far more than the simple product of a government experiment. Though they were as far removed from Steve's traditional ideas of family as a group of people could be, they had come together this Christmas Eve because their bond of friendship made them something that was truly exceptional, something that went far beyond what they could do in a lab or on a battlefield.

Steve Rogers was a part of this dysfunctional, dedicated family called the Avengers, and he could not believe it had taken him until today to realize that he had never really been without friends.

"Do you see it?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied.

"We'll never be the friends you had," she said. "But, though I admittedly don't have a great standard for comparison, I think we come pretty close."

She smiled a tiny smile for the second time that night.

"And I'll definitely never be Peggy."

"No, ma'am," Cap replied as he twirled her once more. When he caught her, he was beaming. "But you're one swell dance partner."

When Bruce found his first gift on Christmas morning, the tag read:

For a real pal. Go Dodgers! Merry Christmas ― Steve.

Puzzled, he unwrapped the gift to find a sheet of nine vintage Brooklyn Dodgers baseball cards. He flipped it over and right-side up again, searching for the catch that had to be there. But he found none.

Bruce was perplexed, to say the least. He thought everyone knew ― how could Steve have missed it?

Bruce Banner thought baseball was the most boring sport in the world.