NOTES: This was a gift for Lor on tumblr for the ssromanogers gift exchange. This is meant to take place between Cap 2 and Avengers 2.

Thanks to the_wordbutler for the beta.

Tony e-mailed them all a couple of days after Thanksgiving; the subject line read "Secret Santa." His message read that with all the doom and gloom in the world—HYDRA's revelation, SHIELD crumbling to bits, all of them being called out more and more often on missions which were headed up by Stark to keep the world safe—they should do something for each other to maintain at least a teensy bit of holiday cheer.

Steve wasn't sure he could muster that much Christmas spirit. When he wasn't being sent around the world to wherever Tony dictated, he was hunting down Bucky. He wasn't sure which of those two things felt more fruitless at the moment.

Sam had offered to quit his job and tag along, but Steve needed someone in his life with a normal-sounding career and some stability in case he needed to hole up somewhere.

So Steve spent most of his time alone, which was fine. Tony was running things from New York, Bruce was with him doing research, Clint was who knows where doing who knows what, Thor was still back on Asgard, and Nat—

Steve hadn't heard a word from Natasha since their conversation at Fury's fake grave. Part of him wanted to feel hurt and insulted that after everything they went through in those few days, she wouldn't trust him. But the more sensible and logical part of him reminded himself that she was having to rebuild her empire of covers; she was extremely vulnerable at the moment, and if he knew one thing with absolute certainty about Natasha, it was that she hated not having power and control in a situation.

So when Tony's e-mail about Secret Santas came through, Steve was all for it. Tony had thankfully included an explanation of what that term meant for the "aliens and geezers in the group." He'd also assigned who would be giving gifts to whom. Steve was about ninety percent certain the billionaire had picked Thor to give him gifts in hopes that he could get to rule Asgard for a day or something.

Because that's what everyone in the galaxy needed: King Tony.

Steve assigned to give presents to Doctor Banner. Tony laid out an inordinate amount of rules regarding price limits, size of gifts, etc. He also assured that JARVIS would ensure delivery of all packages regardless of where an Avenger might be located.

Steve was holed up in a hotel in Chicago searching through lists of various tea blends when there was a knock on the door. By the time Steve was able to look out into the hallway, the coast was clear and there was a small, unmarked cardboard box sitting outside his room. He pulled up the threat assessment app on his phone that Tony'd built just in case; whatever was inside involved electronics but wasn't deemed harmful. He grabbed his knife from his pocket and made quick work of opening the box. Inside was a blank card with dogs wearing Santa hats wishing him a Merry Christmas and what looked to be a decade's supply of hearing aid batteries.

"Funny," he muttered to himself.

Two days later, while back in his new and still barely lived-in apartment in DC, another box appeared on his doorstep. Again, there was no indication of who might be sending these to him (which he guessed was the point)—no return address, another blank Christmas card. But this time there was a (typed) note taped to the wrapped gift. It read, In case you need some new running gear. Inside the gray cellophane was a trio of tiny shirts with Baby Gap on the tags.

He smiled, and a twinge in his gut told him he might have an idea of who his Secret Santa might be, but he didn't want to get to hopeful. But he felt a little more sure of his instinct when the following morning he received a package containing a plastic toy dinosaur that bore a nametag reading Hi! My name is Steve.

He ran his thumb over the line of spikes along the stegosaurus's back and thought of that morning Natasha picked him up from running at the mall. He wished she was closer, that there was some way he could help her. Even in the midst of her world being completely exposed, every secret released for anyone to read, she'd still made sure he'd had as much information as possible to start his search for Bucky. She wasn't what he'd initially expected, but that was Natasha's MO. He wondered who she would be around him now.

Four days later, on the twenty-third of December, Steve sat by himself in one of the new, revamped Quinjets Tony'd upgraded. He was on his way back home from infiltrating a HYDRA base in Tokyo. While Steve could fly the craft (and not crash it into ice, thank you), he was tired enough to set the controls to auto-pilot, even though he never left the cockpit.

An hour into the flight, there was a beeping sound to notify him in a change of course. He felt adrenaline cascade into his system at the thought of the system being hacked and having to face a new threat, but the comm crackled, and a familiar, husky voice sounded in his ear. "Relax. Even specimens need a vacation every now and then."

She cut the line before he could say anything in return, and he quickly scanned the navigation controls at the console to see if he could recognize his destination. He knew the coordinates would put him somewhere in the Pacific Ocean, but beyond that, he wasn't entirely sure. Seeing he had ninety minutes on the ETA read out, he decided it was probably a good idea to shower.

His destination was a small island. As the Quinjet made its descent, he saw a reasonably-sized beach house, plenty of white sand, and a small dock with a yacht in a slip. And as the craft nestled onto the Quinjet pad on the roof of the beach house, he made out the figure of a woman sunbathing on the beach.

He moved towards the rooftop access door. As he was about to walk through, he noticed a note taped to the door. Activate the cloaking. Appropriate clothes—because you know you wouldn't have any even if this wasn't a surprise —are in the smaller bedroom. Meet me out front when you're changed.

Steve poked around the house until he found the aforementioned bedroom. Natasha had lain out a pair of navy swim trunks, a pair of sunglasses, and a towel. On the bed was a second note: There are drinks in the fridge. It'd be a good idea to bring them out with you.

Quickly, he changed and went downstairs. The kitchen was an open design, most of the walls were windows and they offered a beautiful view of the beach and bright blue waters. Steve dug around the cabinets until he found a cooler. Figuring it was better to be safe than sorry, he filled it one type of each of the beverage stocked in the fridge before covering the drinks with a layer of ice.

Natasha was stretched out on a lounge chair, sunglasses on her face and a black bikini marginally covering her body. Steve tried not to stare too much, but knew from the small smirk that crossed her face that his admiration lasted long enough for her to give him crap about it.

"Merry Christmas," she greeted, still not moving from her relaxed position.

Despite the air of leisure she was trying to put off, Steve could still see lines of exhaustion in her body. His protective nature wanted to immediately jump in and do whatever he could to make them go away, but he refrained. "Same to you," he replied as he draped his towel over the other lounge chair and made himself comfortable. "What is this place?"

"My gift from Tony."

"You been here the whole time?"

"No," she answered with a small, secretive grin. "Traveled here and there, wherever I needed to be. I just got here yesterday. And while silence is nice for short periods of time, it makes me nervous, so I brought you out here as your final gift."

"Thanks," he responded genuinely. "Although to be honest, I was really expecting a how-to book helping geriatrics be better kissers."

She laughed at that, and the knot of tension in his stomach loosened a little. "Oh, but why give you a book, when I give you personal lessons?"

The offer and the sight of so much skin caused his stomach to twist in a new way. And the way she smiled knowingly at him didn't help matters. "I thought you were done with bikinis."

She shrugged her slim shoulders. "You already know all my scars, and we're the only two people here. What does it matter?"

"I don't know all of them, " he reassured her. "I didn't— Your files you put out there, I didn't read them."

She snorted. "You might be the only person on earth who can say that," she told him with a faint hint of bitterness in her voice.

He sat up, swung his feet over to the side of his chair, and rested his elbows on his knees. "Who do you want me to be?" he asked.

A red eyebrow arched up over her sunglasses. "What?"

"This is your gift from Tony, this time here on this beach, so I want to help make sure you have a good Christmas. Who do you want me to be, Natasha?"

She pulled of her sunglasses and stared him down for a minute. He tried not to focus his thoughts on how tired she looked behind her Aviators. "Well, there's a pool on the other side of the house that might need some skimming. We could play out some cabana boy fantasies if you want."

"I'm not entirely sure what that means, but sure."

The humor slid from her face and for a second, she let him see the real her—the exhausted, afraid, and vulnerable Natasha. "Then how about a friend?" she asked quietly.

He nodded and smiled. "That I can definitely do."