The Void @queer-irritator - Tumblr Blog

Dec 26, 2025

“All I Want For Christmas Is You”

Bob Reynolds x F!Reader | 12.3k

Summary: Bob had never had a real Christmas before, and he is excited to finally be able to spend the holidays with his new family. He dedicates himself to trying to help around the tower on Christmas Eve, but every attempt he makes is futile. That is until you, his single wish for Christmas, invite him to help wrap presents.

Warnings/Tags: It's gonna be a long one folks, reader doesn't show up until well into the story but you gotta build up yk?, fluff, angst, John is sad and tired, John Walker warning, Yelena enjoying Christmas, Ava also enjoying Christmas, wingman Ava, Alexei is building a snowman, Bob's first Christmas, everybody's first Christmas, Sam and Bucky divorce

Merry Christmas, and happy holidays, everyone!

The tower was buzzing.

Warm aromas of fresh food wafted through the air, and a soft orange lighting filling the space to top off the unfamiliar feeling of home. In the kitchen pots and pans bubbled with pieces of tomorrow's meals, opened and eaten ingredients were sprawled out across the island, and a large turkey awaited its turn in the oven.

Bob felt his stomach stir at the delicious smells as he watched Walker work, his eyes trained on the pan on the stove whose steam heated the room.

Stepping up to the counter, Bob tapped his fingers on the surface in anticipation.

"’Smells good, Walker," he finally managed to muster, having to refrain from licking his lips.

The sound of his voice had John practically jumping out of his apron, his spatula raised in alarm.

"Jesus Christ, Bob!" he cried, the chef hat Ava had gifted him nearly falling straight off his head as he whirled around. "Don't sneak up on me like that!"

"'Sorry, didn't mean to," he murmured, eyes falling down to his shuffling feet. He wrung his hands, reluctantly looking back up when Walker grumbled and turned back to the stove. Bob leaned forward, attempting to catch what was in the curled pan. "What are you making?"

John paused his resumed movements, slowly turning his head to look over his shoulder and narrow his eyes on Bob. He cocked a brow.

"What do you want?"

"Nothing!" Bob said quickly, raising his hands high in innocence. "Can't I just be curious?"

John raised his other brow, eyes looking him up and down in suspicion.

"Right," he grunted before turning back to his food as Bob shuffled farther into the kitchen. His gaze ravaged the fruits and vegetables decorating the center island, the fresh produce cleanly cut and prepared by John's skillful hands.

"Did you decide to stay the night at the tower?" Bob eventually asked, reaching for a bundle of grapes only to receive a whack of the spatula to his forearm.

"Don't," John snapped, his blue eyes freezing any remaining temptations Bob may have had, "touch anything."

Bob shrunk, mumbling an apology as John turned back around, shaking his head to himself.

"Obviously I am staying the night," John murmured, an edge to his tone. "Why would I be here so late if I'd have to leave and come back in the morning?"

"Right," Bob murmured. "I just thought I heard you talking to Bucky about—"

"Bob," John cut in, the glare of his eyes over his shoulder promptly shutting his mouth. "Drop it, alright?"

His frustration was evident, so Bob bobbed his chin in understanding, tongue heavy in his mouth.

"Can I help with anything?" he offered after a moment of silence.

John's head fell back, a sigh of exasperation momentarily freeing the tension from his broad, pent-up shoulders.

"Don't you have anything better to do, Bobby?" he asked. "I don't want to babysit you while I'm trying to cook."

Bob's eyes fell, and he shook his head.

"No," he murmured, shuffling from foot to foot, his eyes glued to the floor. "'Sorry, I was just hoping to help out around the house."

Despite his head feeling heavy and his gaze glued to the floor, Bob could feel John's eyes on him, burning as they raked across his curled-in figure. Another heavy sigh filled the room.

"Can you—" he began, but was momentarily interrupted by the shrill of the landline hanging from the wall just beside his station. He sighed, eyes quickly flicking beyond the kitchen as he shifted toward the repetitive sound. "Why don't you ask Yelena if she needs any help?" he asked, grasping the plastic shell. "She looks like she's about to poke her eye out," he murmured before finally answering the phone and burying himself back in his craft at the stove.

Bob frowned, but turned to yield to his advice, looking out to the living area where Yelena stood beside the small Christmas tree, twiddling with an ornament.

"That's a pretty one," he murmured as he approached her. Yelena's eyes flicked up from the ornament, blinking rapidly to hide their wide, starstruck appearance, and she cleared her throat.

"Yeah," she said, leaning down and flipping one of the flaps of the box over. "They are all from Olivia," she murmured, gesturing down to the box at her hip. A strip of duct tape wrapped around the entirety of the battered box with a line of clearly scrawled out letters reading 'Olivia' written across the top strip. "I don't know if John wants them on the tree," she said, setting it off to the side where a pile of others was beginning to accumulate, including a variety of small frames with unfamiliar faces within them. "It might bring up bad memories."

Bob reached down and rifled through the box, his fingers brushing a glass bulb.

"I overheard Bucky say he was back to talking with her," Bob mumbled quietly, gaze raking over the tiny hand print painted across the clear ornament. His and Yelena's eyes moved in tandem to the kitchen where John was grumbling into the phone as warning smoke began to waft up from the pan on the stove. "So maybe he won't mind."

"Let's hope so," Yelena finally said, hanging the ornament on one of the branches of the tree. "We don't have anymore ornaments without these."

"What are you going to do with the ones you don't hang up?"

Yelena shrugged.

"I thought I would just send them back to her," she said, a small smile sprouting on her face as she grasped a framed ornament, "like a Christmas gift."

Bob caught a glance of what had warmed her expression: a domestic scene of John and Olivia standing hip to hip, a white dress draped across his wife's figure and a just as pure smile on John's face. Bob frowned, looking back up to John only to find his piercing blue eyes suddenly staring him down.

The glass ornament shattered between his fingers as he flinched in fright, thin slices of glass cutting into his vulnerable skin as they fell to the floor.

"Shit!" Bob said, dropping what was left of the ornament onto the carpet and taking a panicked step back.

"Jesus," John grumbled, the harsh crack of plastic to granite drawing another wince from Bob. John rounded the barrier of the kitchen, his movements stiff as he passed Bob and knelt down to aid Yelena in the clean up. "You're going to whisper about me like I can't hear you and then start breaking my shit?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to," he moaned, quickly following the two to their knees. "I must have squeezed it too tight; it's the powers—"

"It's not the fucking powers, Jesus," John grunted, his entire face hard as he haphazardly cradled the pieces of glass in his palm. When Bob reached to help, John smacked his hands away. "Don't," he grunted, sending him a brief glare his way before turning back to the mess. "I don't want you cutting yourself."

"I'm sorry—" he tried to plead, but John immediately waved him off.

"You're not fucking sorry, you know how I know?" he finally said, his voice finally free of the tension and restraint in his throat. "Because you've been prying all fucking night."

"John—" Yelena warned, but he was already gone, shifting on his knees to cloak Bob in his full shadow.

"You've been getting into my business," he said, digging a finger into his own chest, "my family's business, and it's not your shit to deal with. I'm tired of you sticking your head into places it doesn't belong," John grunted, shaking his head. "I'm fucking tired of it. You need to back off before I do something–"

The terrible timing of the landline's ringing cut off his frustration once more. Bob felt his entire body shrink away at the pure fury in John's eyes as his jaw popped.

"Will someone tell that fucking idiot to quit calling us, Jesus Christ!" he snarled as Yelena ran to stop the noise.

The sound of his heavy breathing filled the room, and Bob swallowed, looking down at his lap with his heart beating fast.

"I'm sorry," he managed to murmur again, but his voice broke.

A deep inhale, followed by a deep exhale. Bob's gaze was glued to the ground, but he could see John shift in his peripheral; he hit his thigh a few times with a fisted hand clenched around his chef's hat.

"Fuck," he heard John grumble, finally raising his gaze to see him closing his eyes and shaking his down-turned head in a way that looked like it hurt. "This is why it'll never work out."

Bob's curiosity got the best of him.

"What won't?"

Yelena's eyes burned into the side of his head from where she observed from the kitchen, and a chuckle slipped out of John's tired smile as he shook his head.

"You never stop, do you?" he asked, looking in Bob's direction. "This shit with Olivia," he answered, dragging a hand down his face as fell back on his haunches, seeming to finally relax as his amusement rid his rigid muscles of their active tension. "She actually invited me to the house for Christmas, can you believe that?"

He laughed again, but this time the sound was shakier, fighting against the deep frown lines digging into his face.

"And I turned her down, can you believe that?" he asked, shifting his fisted hand up to his chest. His fingers flexed around the fabric of his hat, and he hung his head. "Who says 'no' to their wife?" he asked, looking up to Bob only for his entire expression to twist. "Ex-wife, fuck," he whispered, burying his face in his hands.

Bob's eyes shifted to look at Yelena who had renewed her spot behind him. Her compassionate eyes were narrowed in concern, gaze aimed at John's balled up fists nursing his face. Bob followed her attention, frowning at the sight of blood spilling from the hand still gripped the scraps of glass, but John didn't seem to notice.

"Why?" Bob asked, looking back up.

John sniffed, and Bob had to force himself to hold his stare.

"This," he finally murmured, waving to the violence in his hand. "I just... I get so angry, and I don't know how to stop it," he said, his brows narrowed on the red staining his checkered pants. A concept seemed to wash over him, and he quietly murmured: "I think I'm afraid I might hurt her."

Yelena reached forward, gently taking him by the shoulder with an expression of pure empathy. She didn't say anything—she didn't need to—just simply squeezed his shoulder as he flexed his hand, his mouth opening and closing, and his face contorted into one of confusion.

A moment of silence passed, only the sound of John's shaky breathing.

"Bob?" Yelena eventually said. He looked up, happy to meet her warm expression. "Go outside and see if Ava needs help with the Christmas lights.

"Are you sure?" he asked. "I can help–"

She simply shook her head, turning back to John.

"I will take care of him," she promised. "Go and help Ava. I can handle this."

He stared at her for a moment, but nodded and slowly got to his feet, catching Yelena's silent insistence for John to open his punctured hand. She didn't glance Bob's way as he retreated to the door, giving him little choice but to slip on John's winter boots and take the elevator to the ground floor.

He left the settled lift and mentally prepared himself as he approached the exit to the building. Upon opening the front door, a gust of wind ripped through his stitched sweater, almost knocking Bob off his feet. He overcompensated in his step out into the chilled New York air and practically ran into the ladder set up right in the middle of the busy sidewalk.

"Ava?" he asked, rounding the ladder as he clutched his hands to his chest.

Sure enough, Ava stood at the very top of the ladder, little fear in her determined expression as she pushed herself to the tiptoes of her boots to string the colorful lights along the overhand.

"Bob," she grunted, voice clipped as she struggled to reach the peak.

"Do you want me to help?" he called up to her as he was shouldered by a passing pedestrian. "I think you're making Lena nervous," he said, pressing his lips into a straight line as he watched her balance teeter, "and maybe me a little bit, too."

"I was a trained assassin, Bob; I think I've got it just fine," she said stiffly, managing to slip the string of lights over the nail. Her satisfied smile was short lived, however, as her eyes fell to the next wound-up rope sitting right beside his feet.

Bob followed her gaze, a smug smile rising to his lips as he looked back up at her with a subtly cocked brow.

"Fine," she grumbled, pointing down at his feet. "Will you toss me that bundle?"

He grasped the rough set of lights, eyeing the sections of open wire and cracked, colored bulbs.

"Where did you get all of these?" he asked, pointing to the remaining piles of rolls as he tossed one up to her. Ava grabbed it from out of the air, and gestured vaguely to the upper floors of the Watchtower.

"Somewhere in the attic. Valentina refused to buy new ones, so—" she said, turning to look at the multiple meters of lights she had already hung, "—hopefully they still work."

The thought of the light's potential failure seemed painful to her, Ava's features tightening as she silently unwound the roll in her hands.

"Shouldn't you be inside helping Yelena?" she asked, changing the subject, "or trying to do something fun for Christmas? This is your first time, isn't it?"

Bob pursed his lips, nodding as he wrapped his arms around himself.

"First real time, yeah," he murmured. "My family didn't really... do Christmas when I was younger."

"I get that," she said. "This'll be my first year in a while. I think it will be for all of us," she murmured, the motion of her hands slowing as a small smile sprouted over her face, cheeks warm despite the brisk temperature. "That's the best part, though, right? We get to do it together," she murmured. However, her face hardened when she noticed the amused grin rising to Bob's blue face.

"I didn't know you were so soft," he couldn't help but tease.

"I'm not soft," she snapped, resuming her movements. "Don't you have something better to be doing than heckling me?"

"I came out to help," he said, tucking his chin to his chest. "I don't know what else to do instead."

Ava plugged the new string into the last, sparing a glance down at him.

"What about your lady?" she asked. "What is she doing tonight?"

A hot sensation washed over his body, and his tongue immediately fell flat in his mouth.

"She's not—I don't—What are you—?"

A smile spread over her wind kissed face, amusement dancing in her eyes as she shifted on the platform of the ladder.

"It's just a question," she said innocently. "'Didn't mean to pry."

He glared at her, unable to fight the blush from flooding his cheeks as she muffled her laughter in the sleeve of her coat.

"You did that on purpose," Bob grumbled.

"You should see your face," she said before snorting and shaking her head. "'Red as that deer's nose."

"Do you need my help, or can I leave?" he huffed. Ava waved him off.

"I think Alexei was having some trouble with... something around the corner if you're looking for something else to do," she said, gesturing down the sidewalk, "or someone else to think about," she murmured, shooting him a subtle wiggle of her brows.

He bristled at the implication, but relented to her advice as another power gust of wind sent him straight into the lane of sidewalk traffic, forcing him to continue in Ava's recommended direction.

New York was beautiful this time of year; the gentle fall of snow lined the street with a clean, pure layer, and the joyous holiday decorations brought a cheer to the public Bob had yet to feel during his short residency in the city. The holiday season brought a sense of community—a sense of affection—to the city and its residents. Their small gestures—smiles, kisses—warmed the air.

The couple in front of him gripped mitted hands, their soft conversation making Bob squeezed himself tighter as his mind wandered.

Your lifted cheeks and contagious laughter occupied every corner of his mind.

He groaned, burying his face as tightly into his chest as he could. Following the sidewalk around the corner of the tower, he finally spotted Alexei's bulbous figure bent over a rather large snowball.

The realization of this potentially extremely esteem-jeopardizing task hit Bob like a truck as he fully noticed the public eyes observing Alexei's actions carefully from the sidewalk. Raised phones filmed his festive activities, broadcasting his jolly smile for the world to see. The idea of gaining media attention had Bob taking a step back despite surely interrupting traffic—two steps back, and turning to retreat–

"Bob! Have you come to help me with my man of snow?"

Bob winced, having to force his head from tipping back as he pivoted on his heel to face Alexei who had his arms raised in a welcoming spirit.

"Lena must have sent you, no?" he called over the oncoming traffic as he nudged his way through the pedestrians. "She knows I made a very good man out of snow," he murmured, taking Bob by the arm and guiding him back through the crowd.

"Actually Ava did," Bob murmured. He followed Alexei off of the sidewalk and into the foot high snow off the curb, light enough to remain perched on top of the frozen layer as each of Alexei's steps plunged deeper into the standing snow. His eyes wandered to the onlookers still lingering. If anything, they appeared to have gained interest with Bob's addition. He turned back to Alexei, twiddling nervously with his thumbs under the weight of their cameras. "She said you might've been having some trouble?"

Alexei scoffed.

"Trouble? No trouble here," he said, waving him off. "But!" he said, raising a finger and turning fully to Bob. "You may have trouble keeping up with my very talented skill set," he said as he bent back over his large snowball. "You know basics, yeah? Roll snow, make ball, stack ball, finish!"

Bob slowly nodded, reluctantly crouching down and beginning to collect snow into his naked palms. By the time he had managed to gather enough to begin pushing it through the thick snow, Alexei was already piling a torso onto his snowman.

"Wow," Bob murmured, face contorting as Alexei clapped his snow clattered mittens together.

"Very impressive, yeah?" he asked, his red cheeks scrunched in pride as he looked over the snowman already threatening to tower over his sunken figure. "Me and Lena made them all the time while in Ohio," he explained. "You would not think such a place would get so much snow, but you would be wrong!"

His face seemed to soften at the memory.

"She was very good at it," he murmured, his eyes loosening as seemed to really look at the snowman, proud smile falling more genuine.

Bob couldn't help but mimic his joyous expression, looking over to the snowman and imagining little Yelena perched beside it, bundled up in snow gear with a gleeful, toothy smile stretched across her wind burnt cheeks.

"I'm sure she'd still be good at it," Bob murmured as he looked back down and continued to push his ball along. Alexei sighed, filling the air around his face with moisture as he removed his stocking cap and scratched his balding head.

"Maybe," he said, a painful chuckle jostling his entire body as his hand fell to his side with the stocking hat still in its grip. "It has been long time; I am not sure she would like it much anymore."

But Bob just shook his head.

"You should invite her outside while she's here," Bob said. "I think she'd have a lot of fun, especially with the rest of us," he said, a smile twitching on his lips. "You could make it another Christmas gift for her."

Alexei let out another heavy sigh.

"I have not bought gift for her yet," he murmured. "I do not know what she would want."

"I'm sure she'd enjoy a gift, but—" he murmured, shrugging as the image of her warm, sheepish smile while rifling through John's ornaments coming to the front of his mind "—she seems like she's enjoying the holiday spirit on its own. I think she's just happy to finally have people to celebrate with," he murmured. Alexei's uncanny silence put Bob on edge, so he quickly pivoted the subject. "Do you like Christmas time, Alexei?"

Alexei cleared his throat, wiping his nose and pulling his stocking hat back over his head, the warmth slowly returning to his smile.

"Of course! 'Very special time," he said. "It reminds me of time in Mother Russia: snow falling, sharing of gifts, and such love in the air!" he said before cocking a brow. "You have found such a thing, have you not?"

"I'm not sure I have," Bob murmured, not fully listening to his nostalgic ramblings.

"You have woman do you not, Bob?"

His movements sputtered at the accusation, and he whipped around, his frontal lobe failing him as he stuttered, "No, no—No, Alexei. No woman for me."

"But I have seen her," he insisted, stepping forward and stroking his chin. "Pretty assistant who walks around tower with scary clipboard, no?" he asked. "Yelena says you stay in her room for the night," Alexei said, jabbing a teasing finger to Bob's chest with a wide, knowing smile. "That makes her your woman!"

Bob's eyes practically popped out of their sockets, his mouth falling open and only the semblance of words stumbling out.

"Yelena—Yelena said what?" Bob sputtered, his entire face contorting into crimson-riddled confusion. "Where did she—why would—how did she—"

And before he knew it, Alexei's vibrating figure was taking him by the armpits and hoisting him from the ground in excitement, throwing him around like a child. The wind whipped against Bob's inflamed cheeks, only adding salt to the wound by the time he was placed back down on the ground.

"Then it is true!" Alexei said, taking Bob by the shoulders to steady him. "Where is she now? You must go to her, and share this Christmas joy!" he said, lifting both arms as if to display the holiday magic of New York City.

But Bob wasn't listening, shaking his head as he attempted to brush Alexei and his allegation away. "She is not my woman—" Bob tried, the snowflakes steaming as they settled on his burning cheeks. He could feel himself beginning to sink into the melting snow beneath his warming feet, his throat aching as shame brewed deep within his gut. "And we aren't—"

"Nonsense, nonsense," Alexei quickly shushed him, oven-mitten gloves covering Bob's mouth. "I have seen how pretty assistant looks at you. You must have enchanted her with your words, no?"

"I didn't do anything—" he said as he managed to pry the leather from over his mouth. His eyes bounced around the faces of the bystanders witnessing the domestic struggle, terrified he would spot your face in their midst. "Please, don't say anything," he murmured, but the old man's fantasy rambling continued. Bob turned back to Alexei, desperate to get him to stop talking. "Alexei, please, she doesn't—"

"She does not celebrate Christmas!" Alexei filled in, but waved off the fictional problem. "Do not worry, Bob. All women will change in time. You must use the words you captured her with to show her the magic of the holiday spirit. She will—"

"She won't!" Bob finally managed to cut him off, his voice rattling through his entire rigid figure. A hot flash sparked from his cheeks all the way down to his toes before the sensation of fire in his socks was replaced by a wet, cold feeling seeping through the soles of his boots.

Looking down, Bob felt his cheeks burn brighter at the reveal of the dead lawn beneath his feet, a wide radius of grass revealed from under the foot of snow which had once resided there. And at the center of the steaming circle was him and the two footprints of singed sod which declared his guilt once he took a step back from Alexei.

"Shit," he grumbled, burying his hot face in his hands. "I'm sorry, Alexei."

Flashes of the startled crowds cell phones flashed through Bob's hidden eyes despite his attempts to block them. The shame bubbled in his throat, angry and painful.

A heavy arm wrapped itself around Bob's shoulders, successfully pivoting him away from the public eye. The following soft sigh and gentle pat to the head had Bob peeking through his fingers, happy to look up and meet Alexei's warm smile.

"Sentry powers keep Bob's small, tiny body nice and warm, yeah?" he asked. "It will make good trait for your woman."

Bob couldn't help but let a laugh slip, and he ran a shaky hand through his hair, offering Alexei a small nod.

"You have complicated relationship with scary secretary?" he asked.

"Yeah, I guess you could say that," he murmured. "She's... never wanted to make anything official."

"You have asked her to do this then, no?"

Bob pursed his lips, his cheeks pinching as he considered his answer.

"No, but she's never really made an indication that she was interested in—" he grumbled only to receive a gentle nudge to the shoulder.

"You must tell her! How will she know your feelings without your confession?"

Bob opened his mouth, quick to queue an argument, but it fell short as Alexei's words worked their way through the stricken gears in his head. He wasn't sure confessing anything to you would make things clearer. If anything, putting his feelings on the table felt as though it could risk breaking apart your shared intimacy as a whole.

His internal conflict must have been outwardly obvious, because he received another clap to the back by Alexei.

"I know you will make right choice," he said. "You have warm heart," he said, pressing a hand briefly to the center of Bob's chest, "good for feeling things."

Guilt swelled in his throat as Alexei and his comforting words distanced themselves.

"I'm sorry I couldn't help," Bob murmured, his attention wandering to the drooping snowman melting on the edge of the steaming, grass circle. He looked back at Alexei. "I didn't mean to ruin your spot."

He waved off the apology, his smile unfaltering.

"I will find a better spot. Better opportunities elsewhere, no?" he said, reaching out and affectionately mustering Bob's hair. "Treat pretty assistant nice tonight, yes?"

Bob managed a shaky nod, eyes falling to the ground as Alexei walked off down the sidewalk in search of a fresh patch of snow. Bob frowned, wringing the sleeves of his sweater as he felt the guilt swell with every spongy step he took in his retreat. He fell into step with traffic in the direction he had initially came, and was unable to bring himself to disappear back inside the tower, thought his pace faltered as the passed the entrance where Ava was still haphazardly perched at the very top platform of the shaky ladder.

"Are you sure—?" he asked weakly.

"I've got it," she said strictly. His frown deepened, but he managed a quiet nod of acknowledgement before continuing down the sidewalk, the wind ripping through his sweater.

"Bob?" Ava called, her voice barely reaching him through the gale of wind. He paused, turning on a soaked toe. "Are you going somewhere?"

He peered in the direction he had been going, and was only able to offer her a shaky shrug.

"Out," he murmured. Even from a distance, snow filling the space between them, Bob could see Ava's face scrunch, a neat brow lifting.

"How long?"

He shrugged again, leaving his intentions ambitious as he felt her eyes pick him apart.

"Do you mind running an errand for me while you're gone?" she asked. His expression unconsciously lifted at the request, and he bobbed his head in agreement. "Hit the deli we went to last weekend—right across from the library—and grab a few gallons of milk. John's been at my ass about it since yesterday," she murmured, yanking particularly hard on the lights at the mention of the subject matter.

"He wants two percent, right?" he asked. "I got yelled at last time for getting one-percent."

"Sure," she snorted, "and if you happen to see Barnes while you're gone, tell him someone's been calling for him at the tower," she said. He nodded, watching her eyes study him for a moment longer, stretching the filled silence. "Don't be out too late," she finally finished before reluctantly going back to the lights. But Bob could feel her gaze follow him down the sidewalk, trailing warm-watered steps behind him.

Wandering into the city of New York should have made him better. The beautiful touristing sights glittered for the holidays, making new sights and spots for his naive travelling eyes to ravish over. However, despite every sparkle—every eyesore—he found his eyes wandering back to the domestic sights on the ground; the clutching of couples hands, the shared, tender moments between two people. It made his heart ache—it made him feel sick. He nuzzled himself farther into his jacket, hoping he could hide from the loneliness creeping up behind him.

But each time his eyes caught a glimpse of his sluggish figure in the reflections of the joyous holiday display windows, he could see the shadow threatening to catch him, its footsteps following the ones he left behind.

With his straying attention, it was only inevitable for him to catch an aggressively passing shoulder. The force sent his feet slipping out from under him on the slick sidewalk concrete, and he only managed to watch his gasp of surprise fill the air before the collar of his sweater was seized, suspending him in midair.

"Bob?"

Surprised by the familiarity of the voice, he lifted his head, looking through the unruly strands of hair obscuring his vision only to see your wind bitten face looking down at him. Bob's eyes fell to the metal hand fisting his sweater, following the muscled mechanism all the way to Bucky's tight expression.

"Shit," he grumbled, face warming as Bucky lifted him back to his feet. He felt like a newborn deer as his feet threatened to slide out beneath him.

You approached him, grasping his arm and insisting his hand to rest on your shoulder for support as you looked him over, face riddled with concern.

"What are you doing outside?" you whispered, quickly removing your own stocking hat and tugging it over his head. "You must be freezing! Where is your jacket?"

"I'm fine," he grumbled, hoping to quell your worry line. "It's back at the tower; I must have forgotten it," he said, watching as Bucky wordlessly shrugged off his jacket and draped it over Bob's shoulders. A comforting warmth enveloped Bob's body, shielding him from the bitter cold. "Thanks," he murmured, adjusting the article, and Bucky simply nodded.

"What are you guys doing out so late?" Bob asked, watching as Bucky bent over and lifted the countless bags he had been formally holding from off the snow-covered sidewalk.

"We just finished shopping," you said, unable to fully banish the concern from your expression as you looked over to Bucky. "Bucky was helping me pick out a few more gifts for the team."

"Oh," Bob murmured, avoiding the concerned glances Bucky was giving him.

You reached out, taking Bob by the arm and gently interlocking yourself with him. A few stuttered breaths briefly clouded his face, and he coughed, hoping to cover up the irregularity.

"I thought you were helping out around the tower?" you asked. "How did you end up out here?"

"I was," he murmured, falling into step with you as you began to continue in the direction of the tower, Bucky hot on your heels, "but it seemed like everything was handled, and I just felt like I—" he murmured, eyes trailing down to the sidewalk where his wet footsteps had already frozen over. "I figured I'd run to the store and grab some things. Ava asked me to go get milk, so I thought I would—"

"Milk?" you asked, and Bob followed your eyes down at the cloth bag settled at your side. Sure enough, two cartons of milk were already settled inside. You looked back up, giving him a bit of a funny look as the corners of your mouth twitched. "'Already got that covered. She asked me the same thing when we left."

Bob blinked, and had to physically restrain the irritation from reaching his eyes as he glanced back at your face, thankful that you seemed blissfully unaware of the plot set against him.

"Ava," he grunted, hopefully too quiet for you to hear as he looked away to hide his reddening cheeks, "of course."

"Well, at least you had a nice view while you were out," you murmured, looking out to the festive decorations littering the street. "Have you seen the tree yet? I know it's touristy, but I think you'd enjoy the trip," you murmured. Bob followed you vague gesture, and, in the distance from over the crests of the tall buildings, he could see the faint glow of artificial lights and the crown of the giant Christmas tree.

"I haven't," he murmured, shaking his head and looking back down at his feet, "but I think I'd—"

"Shit," Bucky grunted from behind your interlocked figures. You peered over your shoulder with Bob, and he felt himself almost swallow his tongue at how close your face was to his. He exhaled, filling the space with vapor and watched the apple of your cheeks tint pink ever so slightly.

"'Everything alright back there?" you called.

"Will you take a few of these, Bob?" Bucky quickly asked, fumbling to slide the bags off his metal arm and into Bob's awaiting hands. His entire body practically crumbled under the weight, and he grimaced, watching Bucky fish a buzzing box out of the pocket of his pants. It was only once he flipped it open that realized the object was a phone.

Bucky stepped off to the side, hand to his ear as he cradled the phone like it was the only thing that ever mattered.

Bob grunted as he tried to lift all the bags on his own, and his entire face flushed red in embarrassment as you offered a helping hand.

"Let me help," you said with a soft smile, taking a few bags from him and hauling them to the edge of the busy sidewalk. Still struggling to lift the remaining ones, Bob felt a deep rooted indignity stir in his gut as he eventually joined your side.

"Sorry," he grumbled, his hands burning from the friction of the cloth handles. You waved off his apology, instead hooking his arm with your own and tucking yourself beside him once again.

"Bucky never lets me help," you murmured, fog wafting around your face as your eyes watched Bucky closely. "I think he thinks making me feel useless is chivalrous."

That had Bob cracking a smile, his attention following yourself.

"I didn't know you could still get one of those things," Bob murmured, tilting his chin in Bucky's direction, "much less have it actually work."

You snorted.

"What? the flip phone?" you asked, and he nodded, grinning at the way your eyes crinkled as you laughed again. "Valentina tried to convince him to use an iPhone, but I'm pretty sure he threw it out the car window on our last mission," you murmured, having to cover your mouth with your hand to muffle your amusement.

"That doesn't surprise me," he murmured as Bucky finished his call, the slap of his closing phone echoing through the busy street. Hands shoved in his pocket, frown plastered on his face, Bucky approached and walked right past the two of you.

"Let's go," he grunted as he passed. You and Bob could only watch him go, heads pivoting in sync to follow him down the sidewalk, your pairs of feet unmoving.

Eventually, Bucky seemed to notice your absence after a few long, angry strides because he paused, spun around on his heel, and looked back at you, empty arms spread in exasperation.

"What?" he asked, failing to hide the irritation in his voice. "Are you coming?"

Bob watched you cock a brow as bystanders walked between the stretched space between the two parties.

"It's fine!" he called, overcompensating his zealous tone in an attempt to reassure you. He gave a wild, exaggerated gesture in the direction he was walking. "Can we go back to the tower now?"

You pursed your lips, glancing down at the heavy bags at your side.

It seemed to finally dawn on Bucky, and his expression, while still pained, physically softened.

"Shit," he murmured, quickly weaving through oncoming traffic on his approach. He grabbed every bag, slinging them over his arms and managing to grunt a quiet and sheepish "sorry" before beginning to walk again. Though this time his strides were noticeably slower as if waiting for the two of you to continue beside him.

As you both fell into step with him, a forgotten thought hit Bob like a freight train.

"Bucky?" he asked quietly, breaking the strained silence between them. He managed only a grunt of acknowledgement. "I forgot to tell you, but Ava said there was someone calling for you at the tower. It sounded a little urgent."

Bucky closed his eyes, face tightening as if he was restraining himself from doing—saying—something. But eventually, the tension fell from his shoulders and he hung his head, giving a defeated nods.

"It was Sam," Bucky murmured after a beat of silence. "He's being an asshole."

Your lips curled into an open circle of surprise.

"Oh," you said. "Wilson... Is he still going through with the suit?"

"Yes," he grunted. "'Bothering me on Christmas Eve for fucks sake."

Bucky kicked a pile of snow in frustration, steam practically radiating off of him.

"It sounds like he's been calling the tower all night trying to get ahold of me," he said. "And apparently John wasn't too friendly the times he answered."

"He shouldn't be calling the landline," Bob murmured. "None of us can fix what he's unhappy with."

Bucky nodded in agreement.

"I've been trying to tell him that, but he's too stubborn for his own good."

"What does he want you to do about it?" Bob asked, looking across your contorted face to Bucky's. His burly shoulders lifted, a heavy sigh of exasperation fogging his face as he grunted.

"I don't know—fix it somehow, I guess," he grumbled.

"Maybe he just wants to talk to you," Bob said, burying his face in his coat to avoid Bucky's eyes as they shifted to look at him. "If it was really about the suit he'd call Valentina," he murmured, shrugging.

The weight of Bucky's eyes lifted as the three of you ducked yourselves under the safety of the Watchtower's overhang.

Ava hummed as they approached, and Bob felt his entire face erupt in flames as she wiggled her eyebrows at him again, eyes trained on the way your hand was still wrapped around his bicep.

"Evening, Bob," she said, the joy all too evident in her voice.

"Evening," he managed to squeak before he was shoving his red face back into the collar of Bucky's coat.

"Merry Christmas, Ava," you said, that warm smile filling your face as you offered her a gloved wave. "Need any help up there?"

"Nope," she popped, grin spreading as she gestured down to him and looked away. "Bob already offered."

"Good man," you said, patting the hand you overlapped and shooting him a smile. He grumbled, having to look away for fear you'd spot the goofy smile squiggling itself onto his face.

"Ava," Bucky greeted swiftly, reaching for the front doors.

"Barnes," she said. "You may want to hurry. John already threw one of the landlines out."

Bucky paused at the door, peering over his shoulder.

"Threw out—" he began, his voice faltering. "How do you throw out a landline?"

Ava pointed farther down the sidewalk where a slowing bulge was growing in the swift moving of the crowd. However, Bob could spot the obstacle creating the change in flow; the destroyed, shattered remains of a landline box, a few crumbs of victimized drywall littering the snow surrounding the crime scene.

You pulled him out from the overhang, gaze strained as you looked up along the tall, forward wall. Sure enough, at the very top, Bob could just barely see one of the glass panels was in tatters, more of it missing than present.

"Literally throw it out," you said, nodding as you seemed to slowly absorb the sight. You gently steered Bob back under the overhang and in the direction of the door Bucky had thrown open. "How many times did you say Sam called?"

"One too many, apparently," he grumbled, already multiple paces in front of the two of you. The plastic button to the elevator snapped beneath his fingers, and the repetitive tap of his boots filled the empty lobby area.

You peered up at Bob, raising a brow at him once you caught his attention, and glancing back at Bucky's uptight figure. He seemed to only get stiffer as the doors to the elevator slid open, and he marched inside with the two of you following behind.

The doors slid closed, and the shaft felt hot as Bucky dropped the bags from his arms and raked his flesh hand through his hair.

"What am I supposed to say to him?" he asked, slicing through the tension of his own making. "What does he want me to say? I can't do anything about the suit. Why does he not understand that?"

He stared at the doors of the elevator, his eyes heavy and hollow in the harsh, box light.

"Have you told him what you think?" Bob eventually asked, reluctant to throw his voice in.

Bucky sighed, shaking his hands as he dragged a hand down his face.

"He doesn't want to hear what I think. He already thinks he knows; nothing I say will change that," he grumbled.

Bob was quiet, busy listening to the echo of Alexei's advice drifting around his head. He felt his eyes wander down to your face. Your face was riddled with concern was you studied Bucky's distressed figures, fingers flexing over Bob's bicep with an ache to aid.

"You should tell him," he finally said, looking back at him.

Bucky's eyes flicked to Bob, a single, untamed lock of hair draped in front of his exhausted expression.

"And if he doesn't listen?"

"Sam is a good man, Bucky," you put in gently. "If you trust each other as much as I suspect you do, then he has no choice."

The tension in his face remained unrelenting.

"And if he hears me out—if he does listen—what if he doesn't agree with what I have to say?" he asked, nose twitching as he pressed a closed fist to his forehead, exhaling. "Sometimes I'm afraid he just disagrees with me to disagree."

The possibility settled in the very quiet car, only the faint rumblings of outside mechanisms filling the space.

"Sam is your friend, Bucky, remember that," you murmured. "You are not enemies—you're on the same side."

Bucky's head fell back against the wall of the elevator, clearly still stricken by anxiety, but Bob watched as his rigid shoulders fell ever so slightly, and he released another pent up exhale. He offered a small nod, and swiftly exited the elevator the moment the doors opened.

As he followed Bucky through the parted doors, Bob's eyes widened at the sight of the stacks upon stacks of boxes filling the floor. Countless rolls of wrapping paper littered the floor alongside a variety of bows, ribbons, tags, and other flourishes for decoration. It looked like a Christmas workshop, and perhaps it really was.

Bucky entered the room with purpose, quickly setting the countless bags onto one of the empty folding tables.

"I think—" he began, attempting to organize the bags' contents, "I think I'll call him—'see what he says," he murmured, turning around to meet you as you're comforting grip around Bob's arm reluctantly released. "Do you mind if I bail on you? I know I promised I'd help—" he asked, meeting you in the middle of your approach.

"It's okay, Bucky. I promise," you murmured with a warm smile, pressing yourself onto your tiptoes to plant an affectionate peck to the stubble along his cheek. "Plus, I think I may have found an even better helper," you said, offering a glance in Bob's direction, successfully flushing his red. You turned back to Bucky, affectionately patting the place right above his heart. "Wish Sam a Merry Christmas for me."

"You're the best," he murmured, wrapping a loose arm briefly around your side before retreating. And, with a lighter step, Bucky walked back into the elevator, a loftliness to his expression as he selected the designated button on the internal panel.

It was only after feeling the remaining, physical weight over his own shoulders that Bob realized he had forgotten something again.

"Shit—Bucky!" Bob cried, quickly running up to the sliding doors. The heavy metal doors clamped around Bucky's metal hand before they were insisted back open again by the delayed, mechanical reflex. Bob quickly shrugged the damp jacket off his shoulders, offering it to him.

Bucky took the jacket into his metal hand before clasping his flesh one around Bob's shoulders, giving him a reassuring squeeze along with a small but genuine smile.

"Thanks," Bucky murmured, "really."

Bob narrowed his brows, eyeing his hand.

"No problem?"

Bucky tried his best to muffle his amusement as he pulled away, retreating back into the elevator.

"And, Bob?" Bucky called once more as Bob moved to turn away. As the doors slowly slid closed, Bucky pointed over Bob's shoulder and mouthed talk to her before being sealed off.

"And then there were two," you said as his head fell forward in embarrassment. "Interested in helping me wrap these last few gifts?"

At the mention of a job, Bob recovered quickly, turning around like a kid on Christmas to see you unloading the busy bags. You waved him closer after seeing his enthusiastic nod.

"I'll have you wrap this one for John," you murmured, sliding a box in his direction as he took the place across from you. "That way there's a little less pressure," you joked, handing him a roll of paper with a reassuring grin on your face. He nodded again, tucking his chin into his chest to hide his blush.

Bob took his designated gift in his hands, slowly flipping the box around to identify its contents. Inside was a brand new kitchen set, numerous measuring cups, spoons, knives, and other utensils included. The thoughtfulness of the gift had a smile settled on his face. However, the joy was short lived as his large, clumsy hands fumbled to unroll the gift wrap, and his unpracticed fingers awkwardly crumpled the sheet as he struggled to spread it out across the table. Once he managed to get the box on a partly flatted piece, he blinked, realizing he was at a loss for the next step.

Hoping to be subtle about his lack of experience, Bob glanced up, staring through his lashes to your station. Your hands moved like magic, folding the paper as if you had already tamed its beast. Cleanly cut, wrapped, and fastened, the gift you produced looked professionally produced.

A sinking feeling filled his stomach as he looked back down at the mess in front of him.

"Bob?" you asked, catching his eyes as they shot up to yours, amusement crinkling your own. "Are you alright?"

He managed a sheepish nod, clearing his throat and standing up a bit straighter in the hope of compensating for his lack of confidence. Though his stalled hands seemed evidence enough, he tried his best to talk his way out of the corner of inexperience.

"Yeah," he said, eyes flickering up to see you awaiting elaboration. He stumbled for an excuse. "Yeah, it's just—" he murmured, frantic eyes landing on the pile of presents awaiting wrapping. "This all was really nice of you."

You cocked a brow as you plucked a bow from the assortment beside you.

"Don't go sappy on me now, Robert," you said with a quiet laugh. "You just started; you can't get out of helping yet."

He managed to shake his head, a weak laugh slipping from his tightly pursed lips as he nervously shifted from foot to foot. Bob watched closely as you grasped another gift, effortlessly pulling out a sheet of paper and beginning the process again.

After a few seconds more of subtle observing, Bob grasped the corner of the paper, pulling it toward him. His face felt like it was about to explode under the heat of your gaze.

A soft giggle broke out in the room, and he felt his knuckles pop at how hard he was gripping the table.

"Let me help you," you eventually managed to murmur before disappearing from his lowered peripheral, head ducked in another desperate attempt to hide his aflame face.

"'Sorry," he murmured as you rounded the table. "I thought that I could—" but you simply shook your head, finding a place beside him.

"Don't be sorry," you said. "It's cute."

He couldn't manage a response, simply burying his face in his hands.

"Alright, watch closely now," you murmured. "First, you're going to measure how much paper you need, like this," you said, demonstrating as you grabbed one half of the paper and pulled it over the box. "And then you'll check the short sides."

Bob watched you through parted fingers, and tried his best to pay attention to the instructions you uttered from your lips. However, his attention was quick to stray. Beneath the soft light, Bob could see the pink dusting your lifted cheeks, the crinkle in your eyes, and the loftliness to your voice—evidence of the bright smile you were failing to fight off.

"—secure it with a piece of tape—"

He wasn't sure he had ever had the opportunity to see you so closely before.

"—one last fold—"

His eyes traced your twitching lips, and his own unconsciously parted against the palm of his hand.

"Bob?"

He straightened, and his face reddened when he realized you had already finished.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. You seemed amused by how far away his voice sounded.

"Are you sure you're okay?" you asked, having to dip your head to make a genuine attempt at seeing his downcast eyes.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he murmured, managing to gather his loosening jaw and nod his head, reaching up to scrub his eyes. "I think I might just be tired. 'Must've not slept great last night."

You reached for his face, passing the back of your hand over his forehead as you brows knit themselves together.

"You've been offly flush lately," you murmured, swiping away a loose strand of hair from the front of his face. "If you've caught a cold, and are just sticking it out for me, I promise I can finish—"

"I'm not sick," he said quickly, sure his face would only burn brighter at the accusation. "I promise, that's not it. It's just..."

His voice faltered as the back of your head stroked the curve of his cheek. The contact was out of concern, but it did little to help the heat scorching his face. He must have looked like a fish with how his mouth was opening and closing, at a loss for words at the domestic touch.

"You don't need to tell me, Bob," you whispered, and he could see you really meant it, "but I promise it will be okay if you do."

He wished he believed you.

"I—" he began, but the words felt sour on the tip of his tongue, burning their way back down his throat as he swallowed them. "I just... I think I'm... overwhelmed?" he whispered, the lie tasting terribly in his mouth despite knowing you could see right through it.

However, you seemed to take pity on him, gently stroking the apple of his cheek with the back of your finger, tilting your head.

"What are you feeling overwhelmed about?"

"It's... I've never really... done this before—any of this. There were so many things to do, so many tasks, and I feel like I haven't been helpful at any of them," he murmured. He furrowed his brows, hoping his own self pity wasn't on fully display. "I just... I just wanted to help—I want to help," he eventually said, finally able to meet your eyes again. "I will listen this time, I promise."

And though he could tell you knew he wasn't saying the truth in its full form, you gently nodded, your smile unfaltering despite the drag the corners of your lips had to reach the peaks of your cheeks.

"Okay," you murmured, and Bob had to restrain himself from chasing the warmth of your hand as it retreated down to his shoulder before finding its way back to your station, "but you have to promise me that if you start feeling faint, you will tell me, okay?" you asked, and he nodded. "Promise?"

"I promise," he said. "I've got it this time."

He was thankful to hear the light sound of your laughter again.

"Good," you said, grabbing a new box for yourself. Bob caught a glimpse of the image on the front; inside was an assortment of earrings, surely meant to aid Yelena's latest rebellion against Valentina's publicity campaign. "First, you'll measure how much paper you need."

You demonstrated on your gift first, and he did his best to mime.

Alongside the portions of your previous instructions he vaguely remembered, he managed to cut the paper correctly without maiming himself, jagged edges and all. And though his fine motor skills needed some work, he fell into a comfortable rhythm at your side.

An enjoyable quiet settled over the table, just the sound of crinkling paper and the occasional murmur of a joke. Your hip brushed his as you twisted your package around, and he was quick to mirror, unable to scrub the boyish grin from his face.

"Now you put a piece of tape," you said, reaching over to the intersection of multiple folds. He nodded, having a fight with the tape dispenser before finally managing to secure the side. "Good, now you fold the bottom piece," you said, watching his fingers closely as he followed your instructions, "and put another piece of tape," you murmured, leaning forward to watch the final step. "Look at that."

Bob squinted at his work, his expression growing sheepish as he studied the end product.

"It's not great," he murmured, but you shook your head.

"Why do you think I wanted to wrap? It doesn't need to be perfect to serve its purpose," you said, but he heard your voice falter as you turned to meet his eyes only for you to straightened when you realized how much closer you had managed to get to him. Your shoulder nudged his, a surprised exhale brushing the underside of his jaw. The sensation sent a shiver down his back, and he parted his lips.

"I would believe that," he murmured quietly, partly afraid to scare you away, "if yours weren't perfect."

You pursed your lips to fight off your shy smile, and Bob could see the hue of pink approaching from the tendons of your neck.

"I've had more practice than you," you murmured. His breath physically and audible hitched as your hand settled itself just above his heart, patting the rapidly vibrating place affectionately as you looked back up at him. "You'll be wrapping your little heart out in no time."

He couldn't breathe, couldn't speak, and he couldn't control his eyes from falling into that triangular pattern: eye to eye to lips—

"But, if you want to get there, you'll have to start now," you went on, voice softer—almost shy, "I will leave you to continue."

"Right," he murmured, blinking the spots from his eyes and clearing his throat as his head bobbed. "You're right—Yeah, I'll get to it."

"Good man," you said, and reluctantly stepped back, cool air taking your place as you returned to your spot across from him. His shaky hands reached for another naked gift: an extremely ugly Christmas sweater dyed the colors of the American flag—Bob squinted—the Russian flag. He did his best to recall your instructions, to do his best to finish his gifts in roughly the same time you did, but his attempts were futile as his mind tumbled straight back into the gutter of your fluttering eyes and flushed lips.

His eyes wandered up from his poorly functioning hands to where you were working, your fingers moving at inhuman speeds as you professionally finished another box. Your eyes flicked up, catching his staring. Bob immediately looked back down to his box, stiffening as an amused hum rang through the air.

"Are..." he began, clearing his throat at how loud his voice sounded in the quiet room. "Are any of these gifts... for me?"

You quirked a brow, and he sputtered.

"Not that they need to be!" he quickly put in, only for you to grin.

"Yes, Bob, there are multiple for you," you said. "Did you think I'd leave you out?"

He shrugged, fumbling with a flap of paper.

"I guess I just..." he said, "I thought presents were supposed to be a surprise," he murmured and waved to the pile of clearly visible presents present on the table. "So I figured none of those were for me."

"That's because none of them are," you murmured, lips tugging as he furrowed his brows. "They are already wrapped," you said, creasing a fold. You looked back up at him, a knowing glint in your eyes. "I had a sneaking suspicion you'd end up down here with me tonight."

His face ran red, but a wobbly grin climbed to his face despite losing his grip on the paper folds.

"Thank you," he mumbled. You laughed.

"You can't say 'thank you' yet; you don't even know what I got you," you said. "What if I got you something you don't like?"

The thought hadn't crossed his mind as he found himself looking at you—the joy in your face. It managed to single-handedly take his breath away—make his heart quicken.

"You got me exactly what I wanted," he finally said, blushing and looking away when he realized he was staring again. "I'm sure of it."

"Well if you're so sure," you went on, "tell me what you really wanted."

He barely managed to wrangle his first idea from the tip of his tongue, and accidentally tangled a piece of tape around two of his fingers in his panic.

"Me?" he grunted, the reactionary question a result of his clear stalling as he desperately searched for a second answer. "I guess... I haven't really thought about it. I've never really had gifts before."

"You must have wanted something," you said. "If you could have anything, what would it be?"

He desperately avoided your eyes.

"I... uh," he grumbled, clearing his throat again and sliding his first finished present away, scrambling to grab another. "I guess a new sweater would be nice."

You hummed again.

"Good choice."

He felt himself blushing again.

A chorus of productivity erupted in the area for the following few hours, your small talk accompanied by the sound of ripping tape, crackling paper, and the pounding of his heartbeat. It was heavy in his chest, and picked up speed with every risk of a glance he took in your direction.

And at the end, with all the packages stacked at the center of one of the tables, Bob looked over the assortment and was immediately able to spot which were wrapped by his untrained hands.

Your hand brushed his shoulder.

"Do you mind helping me carry them upstairs?" you asked, passing him. "I thought we'd try and sneak them under the tree without the others seeing. Like Santa Claus."

He quickly nodded, taking the large, red sack you offered him and began loading the presents inside. His eyes only managed to focus for one second before wandering back up, searching the floor for your shadow. However, your disappearance became evident to him after he failed to spot your feet, and the movement of his gaze grew more erratic as his packing hands slowed. He sat up a bit straighter and called your name only to be met with a hushed whisper within a parted doorway where you emerged a moment later, a pile of neatly wrapped presents stacked in your arms.

"'Couldn't forget these," you said, having to peak around the pile as you haphazardly wandered through the room. Bob immediately dropped the sack and approached to aid you, brows furrowed.

"Where did you get these from?" he asked, taking a few into his arms.

"The back room," you said, meeting his eyes. "I told you I already wrapped all of yours," you murmured, closely watching the way his face contorted when he caught his name scribbled on one of the presents' tag as you passed him.

"All of these—?"

"Yes, Bob," you said with a soft smile as you crouched down to fill the rest of the sack, "they are all for you. Now come over here and help me with this."

His feet moved to follow, but his eyes remained trained on his handwritten name above your own on each of the previously wrapped boxes.

"You didn't have to get so many."

"I know," you said, "but I did."

You looked at him, the warmth of your eyes unable to settle as you studied his expression; the subtle jump of his jaw, the crinkle of his eye, and the dusting of pink on his cheeks.

"Why?" he finally managed to ask, his voice cracking along the whisper. "Why do this for me?"

He caught the way your hands paused at the question, and your recovery would have fooled any other onlooker as your cheeks lifted with a smile.

"Because you deserve it," you said. "You're a good man, Bob."

And, despite your continuous praise of him, despite your undying belief in his success, a sense of doubt clawed at his throat. He surveyed the presents labeled with his name, struggling to swallow as he couldn't help but bare his insecurity to you.

"How do you know?"

He looked down at you, close enough to catch the subtle movement of your eyes as they bounced from his left eye, to his right, to his lips.

"Because," you murmured, your heavy gaze settling on his eyes, "you were kind enough to dedicate your Christmas to helping others, and I..." you began to continue, but he watched your openness falter as your eyes fell to the presents in his arms, "...and I know you, Bob. You are the best of us."

He blinked, dizzy and confused by the lost proximity and your sudden resignation as you gathered the presents from his motionless arms and moved to collect the rest of the presents that couldn't fit in the sack.

"Ready?"

Your voice broke through his plugged ears, and Bob bobbed his head, pursuing his lips in a tight line as he gathered the full, fabric of the sack. You found the fact that he was intent on carrying the sack independently amusing as he stumbled to the steps behind you, sack slung over his shoulder.

"Did I forget something?" he asked, noticing you repetitive glances over your shoulder as you reached for the stairwell door.

"No," you murmured, struggling to muffle your laughter with no free hands. "No, no, it's not that. It's just—" you murmured, tilting your head as the door cracked open, "I appreciate your dedication to the bit."

He furrowed his brow.

"The bit—?"

You grinned at his obliviousness, briefly gesturing in his direction.

"The sack over the shoulder, the big, black, boots, the red face," you said, barely able to contain delight as you looked him up and down. "You look like Santa."

Bob groaned, tucking his chin to his chest and beginning the climb as your giggles echoed through the floor behind him.

Though the stairs were the quieter option, they were the more difficult one for the heavy load over his shoulder. Bob did his best to muffle his grunts of effort as he climbed, his two-handed grip-of-steel on the fabric nearing failure as he finally reached the top.

He brushed open the cracked door, the sound of a movie filling the abnormally quiet floor.

Your hand brushed the side of his leg, and he practically jumped out of his skin, having to grab the railing to recover the slip of his foot. You mouthed 'sorry' to him before pointing to the doorway, eyebrow raised in question.

Releasing a shaky breath, he turned back to the parted door and peered around. The floor appeared to be empty, only the remnants of Yelena's Christmas decoration adventure and a single light flickering in the kitchen giving any evidence of life. He looked back down to you, and shook his head before continuing through the door, keeping his steps quiet despite his friends' apparent absence.

You followed closely behind him as he rounded the couch, approaching the lit up Christmas tree.

"At least it'll be easier this—" he began only for the words to catch in his throat the moment he saw the tangled mess of limbs currently occupying the couch.

"Is that—?" you whispered only for the shock to widdle the rest of your words away.

Five bodies lounged on a couch not meant for five people. Bucky and Alexei were positioned on either end, their legs spread as structure for where Yelena and Ava were laying over them, spread out across where John resided in the middle. His head was lulled to the side, resting in the crook of Ava's suit where her upper awkwardly body rested against the back of the couch.

You mouthed a shocked 'wow' to no one in particular that had Bob cracking a smile. He quietly set the sack of gifts down on the floor beside the tree before getting to his knees and beginning to unload its contents. You followed suit, setting your own presents down and spreading them out across the underbelly of the tree.

"How do you think they managed to do that?" he whispered to you. You glanced over your shoulder again, seeming to want to confirm the sight, and raised an eyebrow in amusement as you shook your head with a playful shrug.

"All the excitement must have finally tired them all out," you murmured. Bob couldn't stop glancing at Bucky and John, waiting for them to pull the punch of the joke. But their faces both remained completely tension free, something Bob wasn't sure he had ever witnessed before.

"I thought Bucky and John couldn't sleep."

You followed his gaze, your own face softening at the sight.

"Apparently they were wrong," you murmured before turning back to the task at hand. Bob's head nodded in agreement as he reached back into the sack. However, his attention could not rest on only the task at hand, and inevitably strayed to the content smile pulling at your lips, your pride over the work done today clear and well earned.

He cleared his voice, wincing as the couch stirred.

"Thank you," he finally managed to say, "for letting me help tonight, even if I was..." he said, fishing out a particularly messily wrapped gift, "not great at it."

Your face was basked in the warm light of the crackling fireplace.

"You were perfect company, Bob," you said, sliding another gift beneath the tree and shifting to position yourself a bit closer to him, "and your wrapping was wonderful. I really appreciate your help."

His heart pounded in his chest as he tempted his hand in the direction of where yours now rested.

"I think you may have granted my Christmas wish," he murmured finally, finger brushing yours. You raised your head, the confusion on your face not quite fitting what he had imagined in his head in response to his confession.

"How did you know?"

It was Bob's turn to scrunch his face.

"How did I know what?"

"That I got you a sweater."

He couldn't help it. He let out a sharp laugh, face beat red as he quickly quieted himself and shook his head.

"No," he whispered, having to cover his mouth as his lips threatened to tremble. "No, no, it's not that."

You mirrored his gesture, slapping your hand over your mouth and visually groaning; Your head fell back slowly, and your eyes closed.

"Shit," you murmured, but he could see the self-inflicted amusement on your face through your fingers.

"It's okay," he said. "I promise, it's okay. That's great, but it wasn't what I wanted the most."

"Well, now you have to tell me," you said, leaning closer. "What did you want the most then?"

The words of a true confession were caught in his throat, desperate to leave his lips but stuck behind the lump of his heart that bobbed when he swallowed. He opened his mouth, at a loss of words.

His hand moved before his mouth managed to, overlapping your own. He watched your chest jerk with a sharp inhale, eyes falling down to the contact.

"I wanted you," he finally managed to blurt, his voice breaking as he looked away, terrified to meet your gaze. He waited for your gentle voice to speak up, to let him down slowly, make sure he didn't hurt as you rejected him.

You shifted beside him, and Bob instinctively moved his hand off of yours to give you space. But you were moving closer, your warmth enveloping him, and before his mind could catch up your hands were on him, one taking him by the shoulders and the other pinching his fallen chin.

Your grip gently pivoted his face to look at you, and he was sure his face was beet red under the heat of your attention. The pressure of your eyes was unbearable, pupils blown wide as they seemed to take in every detail of his face.

A hair fell in front of his eye, and your smile widened.

"Don't look at me like that," he whispered as you tucked the strand behind his ear, your fingers lingering at his pulse point.

"Like what?"

His lashes fluttered under your exhale.

"Like you want me, too."

Your bottom lip stretched beneath your teeth as a dusting of pink covered your cheeks, and you were leaning forward before he had time to react. A lingering kiss to the chin, one just a bit higher, then to the corner of his mouth before planting themselves on his lips. It was soft, brief, and Bob barely had a chance to reciprocate before you were pulling away, exhaling sharply.

Your eyes found his through the depths of your lashes, a silent question in them, and Bob was surging forward as an answer, catching your mouth again. One of your hands found its way to his jaw, and his own ghosted the outline of your body before cupping your waist and insisting you closer. He shared your breath—chased it—pressing his lips so tightly to yours that he became the only thing holding you up from the floor.

Your hand fell from his jaw, stroking the skin of his throat and pressing against the apple there as he swallowed any sound that escaped you. They fell to the collar of his sweater, tracing the knitted outline before falling to the place of repetitive vibration at the center of his chest. A warm sensation built there, his heart beat growing fluttering as he moved his mouth to the corner of your lips, to your jaw, and your soft sighs had him yearning to explore—

"Can you two get a room?" a groggy voice managed to mutter quietly. Bob froze in his spot, the air between the two of you instantly chilling as he looked over the curve of your cheek to see a pair of sleepy but very much open eyes staring both of you down from the couch.

John?" you asked, your voice hoarse. "Jesus."

"You need to find Jesus," he grumbled in response, shifting beneath Ava. "I'm not into that voyeurism stuff, no matter how much Ava tries to convince me I am."

"Why are you awake?" you asked, before furrowing your brows. "Why were you asleep?"

"I wasn't," he grumbled, before drifting.

A strangled chuckle slipped from Bob's frozen lips, and he buried his head in your neck in an attempt to prevent anymore embarrassing interactions. You overlapped his hands around your waist, and you shook your head, an amused smile gracing your face. You pressed a short kiss to the top of his head, gently ruffling his hair that produced a gentle hum from deep within his chest.

"Merry Christmas," he murmured to you.

"Merry Christmas, Bob."

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