A03 Link.
LAST CHAPTER, GUYS.
When Clint arrives at their booth, he’s out of breath and panting too hard to speak.
He looks at everyone, tries to say something, but it comes out in a gush of air. He leans heavily against the table, wheezes for about ten seconds while everyone exchanges glances, and then tries again.
“Rob- Robert Downey Junior.”
Tony blinks. “No, I’m Tony. But I can understand how you can get confused. Apparently I look like a younger, hotter version of him.”
Steve tilts his head, considering. “I don’t see it.”
Clint flips Tony off, and takes a deep breath. “No. Thor is at a restaurant. He just texted me that Robert Downey Junior is a few tables away from him. He wants us to, and I quote, ‘come and see the glorious man of light and eye-crinkles.’”
They all make non-committal noises into their drinks, except for Natasha, who looks around the table with raised eyebrows.
“Come on,” Clint wheezes. “Tasha hasn’t seen him before, we should at least-”
“You haven’t seen Robert Downey Junior?” Darcy snorts, picking at her nails. “Dude, everyone’s seen Robert Downey Junior. I’ve seen him, like, every month for the past eight years. We’re on first name basis now.”
Natasha shrugs. “I haven’t seen him.”
Clint pats her condescendingly on the hand, ignoring the icy look she gives him. “Tasha, I’m sorry, but you’re not a real New Yorker until you’ve seen Robert Downey Junior.”
“I’ve been here for six years, Clint, it’s not like I just got off a boat.”
“Of course, Natasha Sparkles.”
Her hand goes for a fork, and Steve grabs her wrist.
Clint nods towards him, not looking away from Natasha. “Thank you.”
“I don’t think that makes you a real New Yorker,” Bruce says. “I’ve been here on and off for my whole life, and that’s definitely not one of the factors. You’re not a real New Yorker until you’ve stolen a cab from someone who needs it more than you do.”
Darcy makes a noise into her drink, and then swallows. “No, no, no, you’re not a real New Yorker until you’ve punched a complete stranger in the face for doing something only slightly offensive.”
“Those both seem like things I would do,” Natasha deadpans.
Bruce looks at her. “Also, you’re not a real New Yorker until you’ve killed a cockroach with your bare hands.”
“Also something I would do.”
Steve shrugs. “I haven’t done any of those things, and I’ve been here for six years now. I think we should go see him.”
Bruce hums, picking at the shell of the peanut he’s holding. “I don’t know. We try to respect RDJ’s space, he probably-”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Darcy groans, shoving him. “Don’t be one of those douchebags who calls him RDJ. If you’re typing it, then fine. Just don’t say it.”
“It’s his initials! His name is long-”
“If we get in a cab, we can be there in 15 minutes,” Natasha cuts them off, pushing her sleeve up to check her watch.
Darcy snorts again, sipping her drink for emphasis. “A real New Yorker would know the subway’s faster.”
“Nope,” Tony says, scrolling down his phone. “The bus is faster on weekends. We’d get there ten minutes earlier than the subway.”
Darcy makes a face. “Ew, seriously? A bus? Buses are all sticky, and full of shithead children.”
“This, coming from a teacher’s assistant.”
“Shut it, Widow.”
“Besides,” Bruce says, picking absently at the edge of the table. “I can run faster than the bus. Do you know how slow they go? Old people in walkers pass them.”
“Dude,” Darcy repeats. “That’s, like, seven miles. You can’t run seven miles.”
“I can,” Bruce says, “And I’d get there before all of you.”
Natasha rolls her eyes. “Sure. You’re all wrong, anyway. I’ve got a way I can beat all of you to it.”
“Yeah? How?”
Natasha taps her nose knowingly.
Tony sighs. “Whatever, I know this city better than any of you, I could still get there faster. Especially if Bruce runs.”
“Excuse me, I could get there before-”
“Come on, you can’t outrun-”
“Hey!” Steve slots his hand between the two of them. “Breathe! We’re not going to see him, and there’s no way to find out who’s right, anyway.”
Everyone falls silent, and Steve suddenly regrets his choice of words.
There’s a flurry of movement as they all shove themselves up from the table and make for the door, Darcy running outside before all of them and whooping as she does.
“First one to RDJ wins,” Bruce yells, and ignores Darcy’s glare that she gives him for calling him that. “Doesn’t matter how you get there, except Tony’s not allowed to rent a helicopter.”
“Fuck,” Tony says, but keeps running, yanking Steve along behind him.
-
Tony all but dives into the train, landing on his stomach, skidding into a pole, and lying there for a second, swearing.
Steve walks in after him, and bends to help him up. “That was dumb.”
“You’re dumb,” Tony shoots back, wincing as Steve hauls him to his feet. “I thought it was going to leave.”
Steve tugs him towards the empty seats, biting back a smile when Tony starts to whine loudly about his arm hurting.
“That was probably when you hit the pole,” Steve says, nodding towards it and sitting down beside him, probably too close.
Tony rolls his shoulders, flexing his fingers. “Whatever. Hey, do you still have that nail polish?”
“You’re not painting your nails on the subway, Tony.”
“Why? They see weirder shit every day, it’s-”
“No, I mean you’ll spill it all over yourself.”
Tony scrunches his nose. “Then I’ll put it away when we start to leave. Come oooon, Steve, I left my tablet back at SHIELD and I’m bored. You remember what happened the last time we were on a train and I got bored.”
Steve had had to apologize to everyone on the train. A month later, a woman had recognized him and had run up to him and started hitting him with her handbag until Thor dragged her off of him.
Tony still starts randomly giggling about it sometimes.
“Yes,” Steve says darkly. “Thank you for reminding me.”
Tony makes a grabbing motion with his hand, and Steve sighs. He reaches into the pocket of his jersey, and places some red nail polish in Tony’s palm.
Tony grins, and kisses him quickly on the cheek. “Thank you, kind boyfriend.”
“You’re welcome, idiot boyfriend.”
“That’s rude and hurtful,” Tony says, only half paying attention due to carefully stroking the brush over the nail of his index finger.
Steve watches with his head pressed against the window as Tony finishes his first hand, with minimal smearing. He holds the nail polish and the brush in his free hand, and starts to blow on his coloured nails.
“You’re scarily good at that,” Steve says. “I always get it everywhere.”
“Practice,” Tony says, glancing at him before going back to blowing on his nails. “And I have steady hands. I thought you’d be better at it, because of the artist thing.”
“The drawing thing,” Steve corrects him. “I can’t paint to save my life. My paintings look like deformed potatoes.”
Tony shrugs. “Whatever. Hey, uh, also. Is it later yet?”
Steve opens his mouth to say what before it clicks. “It’s- yes, I guess it’s later.”
“Good,” Tony says, still looking closely at his nails. “Thought we should get it over with. The talking thing. About the other thing.”
Steve shifts closer, frowning. “You want… to talk about things?”
“Don’t look so surprised,” Tony says to his nails, and Steve doesn’t know how he can know that, because he’s not looking at him. “I just thought, y’know. The sooner the better.”
Steve nods, and Tony nods, and they both nod awkwardly as neither of them say anything.
Tony is almost halfway through doing his other hand when he says, “I think this is where you say something.”
“How about you go first?”
“Okaaaay,” Tony says, drawing it out and starting on his pinkie finger. “Uh. I’m sorry for lying- well, not lying, just not telling you everything- about by identity. Casually stretching the truth. Little white lies. Or something. And, uh, I love you?”
He clears his throat, rubbing a streak of nail polish from his skin. “Wow, we suck at this. Your turn.”
“Um. I don’t really have anything to say?”
Tony finally looks up at him, his hand stilling. “Seriously? Your boyfriend turns out to be internationally famous and you don’t have anything to say?”
Steve doesn’t know any other way to tell him he doesn’t care that he hasn’t said already said, and Tony looks surprisingly vulnerable under the bad lighting that the train has, and Steve falls a little bit more in love with him every time his hair curls like it’s doing right now.
So he shrugs again. “I don’t know, you’re- I’ve always just known you as Tony. That’s the guy I became best friends with, it’s the guy I fell in love with. It’s the guy who stays up until two in the morning watching reruns of ‘Friends,’ and buys everything for all of us, and paints his nails on a train. You’re still… just Tony. I don’t care what your last name is.”
And Tony is staring at him, his nails drying as he’s not paying attention, and he has this look, like-
“You’re an irritatingly good person, also possibly a cyborg, because no-one can be that fucking perfect, and I’m embarrassingly in love with you, you asshole.”
Steve laughs, and Tony reaches for him before remembering fuck, nail polish, and instead just leaning in and kissing him.
He looks like kind of an idiot, kissing him with his hands held out at head-level, and Steve smiles through the kiss. He leans back after a few seconds, kissing him quickly a few more times before letting his head rest back on the window.
Tony hums. “I think I’ve already pointed this out, but our lives are basically the plot of a shitty rom-com.”
“Sitcom,” Steve says. “The Avengers, remember?”
Tony nods into his neck. “We should have a reality show.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“No, Tony.”
“Spoilsport,” Tony mutters, but Steve can feel him smiling.
He starts to crook his head so it’s resting on top of Tony’s, when he hears a click.
Tony bolts up, hands still dangling, and Steve looks around.
Click. Click. Click.
“Hey,” Tony calls. “Mind stopping that?”
The woman glances up; shakes her head. “Sorry, sir, it’s my job. Would you mind if I asked you a few questions about why you stopped producing weap-”
“No, I wouldn’t,” Tony says, and Steve watches something close off in his face.
The woman takes another picture. “Then how about the ensuing relationship with this-”
“Double no,” Tony says, standing up and dragging Steve up with him. “What paper do you work for?”
“I don’t have to answer that.”
“You don’t,” Tony admits, “but I can always hack your phone and delete those photos you just took.”
The woman’s pencilled eyebrows raise. “Mr. Stark, you’ve barely had any press since-”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Tony waves a hand, and the woman’s eyebrows get even higher up her forehead when she sees the drying nail polish.
Tony leers. “What, a guy’s not allowed to pamper himself every now and then? See you, Umbridge.”
“My name isn’t-”
“It was a Harry Potter reference, you ignoramus,” Tony says, and Steve takes his sleeve, seeing the smears of nail polish on Tony’s jeans where he’s been digging his fingers into them.
Tony looks at him, and curls his hand around Steve’s wrist so he doesn’t get any red on him. “Be glad you look pretty today, those photos are going to be everywhere in half an hour.”
“I always look pretty,” Steve says as they get off the train, trying to lighten the mood.
It sort of works- Tony smiles, even though it’s small. “I know you do. Sorry about her.”
Steve squeezes his hand. “I guess I’m going to have to get used to Umbridge-like reporters trying to pry into our private life.”
Tony makes a face, but nods. “Yeah. You may or may not have gotten the press interested in me again.”
“Sorry.”
“Not your fault. Everyone’s just surprised to see me hold down a relationship for more than a week. Yay me!”
“Yay you, London Tipton,” Steve says before he can stop himself, accidentally letting slip evidence of that time Thor got him to sit down and watch four seasons of ‘The Suite Life of Zach and Cody.’
Also ‘Kim Possible,’ but that’s another story.
The train’s doors close, and Steve and Tony both watch it start to shift forwards when they realize in unison why they were even on the train.
“Shit,” Steve says.
-
Tony pays Coulson $500 to kick Darcy out of the cab and pick them up instead, and Darcy chases them three blocks before throwing herself onto the hood of a different cab.
They pass Bruce, who is currently peddling the fuck out of a bike that neither of them have seen before.
Tony makes Coulson pull up beside him, still driving. “Hey, Brucie. Where’d you get the bike?”
Bruce looks down. “I may have paid a kid 20 bucks and a lighter to let me borrow it.”
“I’m so proud,” Tony says, and rolls up the window. “Coulson, punch it.”
Coulson glances in the rear-view mirror. “Clint’s up ahead.”
“Run him over.”
“Running him over.”
Steve shoots Tony a look. “Don’t run him over, Coulson.”
“Not running him over.”
Tony pokes his tongue out at Steve, and then starts hitting Coulson’s shoulder. “Pull over, pull over-”
“Pulling over,” Coulson says, twisting the steering wheel so they slide into a parking space, and Tony yanks open the door.
Steve stumbles out after him and they run, Bruce a few feet behind him and pushing off of his bike, Clint a few steps ahead and panting like he’s dying, Darcy screaming obscenities as she gets out of a cab a few cars away.
They run, Darcy catching up, Clint falling behind, and Steve grabs Tony’s hand and doesn’t care about the half-dried nail polish that flecks off onto his wrist.
Then- then-
Then Natasha’s pushing the doors of an ambulance open a few feet ahead of all of them, ignoring the paramedic that’s yelling at her, and starts towards a very confused Thor at full pelt.
She rams into Thor, almost knocking him backwards, and peels herself away from him with a grin.
“I win, fuckers,” she announces to the rest of them, and then cranes her neck to see over them.
Clint is a few meters away, lying on the sidewalk and breathing raggedly.
“Walk it off,” she yells, and Clint lifts a hand to pull the finger at her.
She rolls her eyes, claps Thor on the back, and goes over to drag her husband to his feet.
“I hate all of you,” Darcy says, leaning heavily on Bruce, who is dripping sweat onto his feet. “I really, really despise and loathe every single one of you to the depths of your black, black souls.”
Steve kisses her on the head, and she shoves him away, scowling.
Natasha returns, Clint’s arm draped over her shoulder. “Oh, quit being such a baby.”
“Dying,” Clint moans. “I’m dead. I’m dead. Everyone mourn me.”
“Methinks I have missed something,” Thor says. “I apologize, my friends. The great Robert Downey Junior already left, but never fear! I took many photos.”
“Next time,” Tony pants, “Don’t. It pisses them off.”
Steve looks at them all, his screwed up, twisted, mismatched group of misfits, and loves them with every damn cell of his body.
“Hey,” he says, “do any of you guys actually care that Tony is Tony Stark?”
Tony whips around to him, mouth open, but Natasha waves him down. “Get over yourself, Stark. I found out two weeks after Steve introduced us.”
“Three months,” Clint says, raising his hand that isn’t over Natasha’s shoulder.
“Last year,” Darcy says.
“I have no idea what any of you are talking about,” Thor says, frowning, and Steve laughs.
“Great,” he says. “Glad we could put that to bed. So, Tony Stark! Nice to meet you.”
Tony looks down at the hand that Steve is holding out, and his mouth quirks up. “Are you serious?”
Steve just nods down at his hand.
Tony sighs, but takes Steve’s hand and starts to shake it. “Nice to meet you, Steve.”
Steve grins, and uses that hand to yank him in, kissing him sloppily and muffling Tony’s surprised yelp.
“Very nice to meet you,” Tony says into his mouth.
Steve can hear the rest of them making retching sounds around him, but he just shoves his hands into Tony’s hair and loves him, loves this, loves the Avengers and everything they’ve been through, everything they’re going to go through, and the stories they’re going to tell one day.
-
“And that,” Steve says, slapping his hands down, “was how I met your father.”
Both Grace and Sam look at each other with identical disgusted expressions.
“Pops,” Grace says, “No offence, but, like, 90% of that was completely unnecessary. And we figured out who everyone was halfway through.”
There’s a knock at the door, and they both look towards Sam.
“Oh, come on,” Sam whines, sounding like Tony in the best way. “Door-opening is the stupidest job to dedicate to me, and I did it last time, and- Grace, I’m older-”
“Getting frostbite,” Tony yells from the other side of the door, and Sam slumps, groaning loudly as he pushes himself up off the couch.
Tony is smiling hugely when the door opens. “Hello, my favourite son!”
“Only son,” Sam mutters, but allows Tony to hug him, one-handed, as the other hand hauls a bag full of wrapped presents onto the counter.
Grace and Sam gravitate towards them, looking hopeful.
Grace pokes at one. “Hey, dad?”
Tony pecks her on the forehead. “In a minute, favourite daughter, I have to go over and ravish your father.”
He ignores their groaning, and drags Steve forwards into a kiss. “Hello, favourite husband. I made a new phone, what did you do today?”
Sam walks past them, reaching for an orange out of the fruit bowl. “He told us about you guys’s epic love story. You’re both idiots.”
“Agreed,” Tony sighs, kissing Steve again. “Steve was in denial about me for years.”
“Excuse me? I was-?”
“You’re excused,” Tony says, and turns around. “Devoted husband, loving children, you are required by law to help me put your shit under the tree.”
Grace and Sam pounce eagerly, but Tony steps in front of them. “Without peeking.”
They groan, and Steve watches them as they start to strip the bag away, loading the presents into their arms.
Steve goes over to slide his arms around Tony’s waist.
Tony turns slightly, ducking his head under his chin, pressing his mouth quickly to his neck. “You okay there, Cap?”
The old nickname makes him smile, and Steve hums. “Yeah. I’m just really glad I met you.”
Tony huffs quietly, but pushes closer. “Of course you are. Your life would be dull and boring without me, shelling out Avengers panels and getting obscenely wealthy. As opposed to now, where you’re shelling out Avengers panels, getting obscenely wealthy, and getting overshadowed by your multibillion dollar husband. I make things interesting.”
“I can live with that,” Steve says, and kisses his hair. “And Clint still doesn’t forgive you for lending Sophie some of it when she was fifteen.”
Tony snorts. “He’ll get over it. He has to; I’m paying for the holiday this year.”
Steve hums again, rocking them slightly, watching their kids discreetly try to peel some wrapping off of a present. “Grace, put it down.”
She looks up, making a face, but shoves it with the rest of them, under the tree. “Not even one? It’s Christmas Eve.”
“Exactly,” Steve says, over Tony’s shoulder. “Which makes it all the more magical tomorrow morning, when you wake up and find what Santa’s left.”
“Pops, Uncle Bruce ratted you guys out when we were six.”
“And he’s going to rot in hell for it, Sammy.” Steve kisses Tony again, on the back of his neck, and shifts so he can look at him. “And the others called while you were out, they’re getting in early.”
“How early?”
“Early as in they should be here in about half an hour. Darcy promises she’s definitely not going to forget them this time.”
Tony turns, grumbling into his neck. “Yeah, I bet. Fuck. Coulson’s going to yell at us for not swearing the stupid reindeer sweaters.”
“He’s not,” Steve says, “because we’re going to wear them, Tony.”
“Look, I know I’ve made questioning parenting choices, but I’m not making my kids wear those heinous things.”
“I don’t mind them,” Sam pipes up. “I think they’re festive.”
Tony pokes his tongue out at him. “That’s because you take after your Pops, and are therefore a scarily decent guy who would suffer through wearing wool for your uncle.”
“They’re sweaters, Dad. They’re not that bad.”
“I hate them,” Grace says flatly, leaning against the wall, her hair bouncing down her shoulders. “I think they should go and rot in a hole.”
Tony beams at Steve’s disapproving face. “See? Proof that the donors didn’t fuck up, and we have one each.”
Both Grace and Sam make a face at each other, and Steve leans Tony forwards, making him walk until they hit the couch and topple over, almost landing on Grace’s leg and making her yelp.
“Please don’t make out in front of us,” Sam begs. “Please, please, please. I know you’re both rich, but even you two combined won’t have enough money for the therapy we’re both going to need when we’re older.”
Tony twists his head and starts laughing into Steve’s neck, and Steve looks down at him, at the lines in his face, the creases that Steve’s traced along too many times to count.
The knock on the door makes them all look up, and they all turn to stare at Sam again.
He squirms.
“SAM,” Natasha yells, and knocks again. “I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE. IT’S YOUR JOB TO-”
“I KNOW, SHUT UP,” Sam yells back, already making for the door and swinging it open.
Natasha, Pepper and Clint slide past him, and Clint dumps two bags onto the table. “Kids, unload.”
“We’re not your slaves.”
Clint taps Grace on the nose, and reaches to pull off his scarf. “You’re their spawn, so you’re as good as. Until you hit eighteen, you obey our every whim.”
“Therapy,” Sam mutters, banging his head against the table. “Therapy, therapy, therapy.”
Pepper smacks a kiss onto his cheek, then Grace’s. “I hope they weren’t too hellish for you.”
Grace lifts an eyebrow, and Pepper has to stop herself from smiling at how it makes her think back to her days as Tony’s assistant. “Today, Pops told us how he met Dad. In length. And it wasn’t even how he met him. Jesus Christ, Dad, did you seriously not tell him who you were for six years?”
“Again,” Tony says, pulling Steve back down to the couch. “I was emotionally retarded. Totally your granddad’s fault. Blame him.”
Grace rolls her eyes towards him. “Sure, dad, I’ll just go down to the cemetery and start dancing on his grave. You’re a great influence.”
“He’s a terrible influence,” Pepper sighs. “But at least he didn’t teach his daughter how to strangle a man using dental floss.”
“One time,” Clint says, raising his hands. “Natasha taught me, and I wanted to pass on the next generation-”
Natasha smacks him lightly on the back of his head. “I said we’re not teaching her lethal techniques until she’s at least sixteen, and what do you do? No wonder she’s at Peggy’s this year.”
“Yeah, and all Peggy will do is teach her how to kill people using scented dental floss.”
“Stop the violence,” Steve says, slotting his hand between them. “There are young, impressionable eyes watching.”
“Hypocrite.”
Darcy, Bruce and Coulson slam the door against the wall as they come in, and Darcy looks around at everyone, the tip of her nose cherry red from the cold. “Wow. Knew I forgot something.”
“You left us at the airport,” Pepper says, “for three hours. Again.”
Darcy lifts her hands helplessly. “Oops?”
Pepper’s lips thin, but Grace butts in before she can say anything, hugging Darcy around her shoulders. “Hey, Auntie Darce.”
“Hey, niblet,” Darcy replies, ruffling Grace’s hair when she leans back.
Grace hugs Coulson the same way, and he squeezes her slightly. “Keeping out of trouble, Gracey?”
“She’s Tony, except prettier and younger,” Clint says, kissing Darcy on the cheek and taking her bag. “What do you think?”
Tony sniffs. “I’m pretty.”
“I know, I just said she was prettier. Hey, Bruce.”
Bruce lifts a hand, and accepts the shortcake when Pepper holds it out. “Hey, all.”
Thor bustles in shortly after, bellowing about the bounty of this year and how Pepper’s shortcake is the food of the gods, to which Pepper shoves him gently.
Clint and Natasha lie on the couch opposite Steve and Tony, Clint’s hand threading absently through Tony’s hair and laughing quietly when Bruce and Tony start bickering over whatever the hell they bicker about- none of them understand their science talk.
The door opens again about ten minutes later, and Peggy smiles at them, dragging Sophie into view.
“Uh,” Sophie says, pushing her hair out of her face. “Hi?”
“She whined for three hours,” Peggy says flatly. “I had to bring her.”
Clint raises her eyebrows at his daughter. “You okay, Soph?”
She shrugs, twisting her hair around a finger. That girl and her hair. “Yeah, I just- I know I’ve been all independent since college, but- come on, I’m not going to miss Christmas with the Avengers. Besides, Billy promised me an awesome present this year.”
“Out of luck,” Darcy says over her wine. “He’s with Teddy, his boooooyfriend.”
Sophie gapes for a second, before snapping her mouth shut. “He went through his sexual crisis without telling me?”
“He was going to,” Tony says, “he just got distracted. He came and talked to Steve, being as he’s married to a man and isn’t as terrifying as me. It was adorable. You can go over and bitch at him tomorrow, okay?”
She grits her teeth. “Fine.” She nods at Grace and Sam, raising a hand. “Hey, guys.”
“Hey,” they say in unison.
Peggy closes the door behind them, and starts over towards Darcy’s annual gingerbread house, which gets steadily crazier each year. This year, it has snowmen mobbing a gingerbread man, who has a marshmellow-gun in his hand.
“Never fails to disappoint,” Grace says, dipping her finger in the icing and being batted away by Darcy, who is forever vigilant about her gingerbread houses.
Steve leans back, his hand curling around Tony’s shoulders, and breathes it in:
Darcy is arguing with Thor over whether they should eat the gingerbread house now or later- she always tries as late as she can get it, because she’s fine with staring at it until it goes rotten- Clint is catching up with Sophie while Natasha fills the drinks, and Bruce is talking with Grace about her latest science project.
Sam is sitting off to the side, texting Billy, from what it looks like; and Coulson is rummaging through the fridge, and Pepper and Peggy are grinning at each other over a glass of wine- combined with Natasha, they’re dubbed The Unholy Three.
Tony shifts in his arms. “I know that look. You’re totally having a moment.”
“I love this,” Steve says, and feels Tony smile into his arm. “I’m remembering all the Christmases we’ve spent together.”
“And the ones we haven’t suffered through yet,” Tony says, his voice muffled by Steve’s shirt. “You always say that. Well, not the suffering part.”
“Definitely not the suffering part,” Steve agrees.
They sit in silence for a few seconds, watching the fire spit happily a few feet away, and generally feeling incredibly content.
Tony says suddenly, “I still think we should have a reality show.”
Steve barks out a laugh, which sets Tony off, giggling into his shirt, and after a few seconds, everyone looks up to where they’re laughing so loud it’s echoing slightly.
Clint blinks. “I think someone broke them.”
“Bound to happen eventually,” Darcy says, slapping Thor on the wrist when he tries to steal a cookie.
Steve chokes, sucks in a breath, and reaches down to jostle Tony back into his arms. “Sorry. Just- happy.”
People share glances, and Darcy rolls her eyes. “That’s going to be the lamest Christmas toast ever.”
“I concur,” Bruce says. “But I also think it’d be pretty awesome.”
“No.”
“Yes. Everyone pick up your drinks.”
There’s a thirty-second bustle where everyone makes towards the punch bowl, and rearrange themselves on the furniture.
“We are gathered here today,” Bruce says finally, lofting his drink, “to celebrate Christmas with our loved ones. Or most of them, anyway. I feel- incredibly blessed to have you all in my life, and-”
“Oh, my god,” Tony says. “Bruce, hurry the fuck up so we can demolish Darcy’s gingerbread house.”
Darcy glares with enough force to rival Pepper.
Steve nudges him, and picks up his drink. “Bruce, you mind if I-”
“Go ahead. You’re the notorious Tony-tamer.”
Steve gives him the eye, and Bruce just gestures towards his glass.
“I also feel incredibly blessed,” Steve says, ignoring Tony’s groan, “to have you all in my life. And not just because I got rich off of my panels based off of you.”
“Amen,” Clint says, and whoops.
He cringes when Natasha steps on his foot.
Natasha kisses her husband on the cheek; wipes off the lipstick. “Sorry, Steve. Continue.”
“And,” Steve says, “I can’t wait for what’s to come. I wouldn’t trade this for anything, and you’re all the best family a guy could ask for. Now, let’s leap savagely on Darcy’s gingerbread house before she decides it’s too good for any of us and throws it out the window like last year.”
Darcy moves protectively towards it, but Bruce gives her a look over his glasses and she gives up, pushing herself against the wall as everyone starts to grab for a piece.
“I have dibs on the homicidal snowman,” Grace yells.
“I have dibs on the suicidal one,” Sam yells, and lets out a triumphant cry when his hand locks around it.
Steve smiles, and turns to ask Tony is he wants a piece, but stops when he sees his expression. “What?”
“Nothing,” Tony says, still with that dopey smile. “I’m just really glad I met you.”