2018
They didn’t bother with a tree this time.
The apartment was dim, lit only by a lamp on the counter and the faint glow of the TV. Natasha sat cross-legged on the couch, sharpening one of her knives. The soft scrape of steel against whetstone was the only sound in the room. Val was at the kitchen table again, flipping through a book with a half-eaten sandwich in front of him. It had been sitting there long enough that the bread had started to curl at the edges.
They’d stopped pretending.
When the knock came late in the evening, neither of them moved at first. Natasha’s hands paused, the blade glinting faintly under the lamplight. Val glanced up from his book, blinking as if the sound had broken some spell. Finally, Natasha stood, her movements slow and deliberate as she went to the door.
Steve stood there. The snow was heavier than last year, clinging to his coat and hair like frost on glass. He didn’t bring a bag, no carefully wrapped gifts or half-forced smiles. His expression was soft but weighted, his eyes betraying the exhaustion he carried.
“Tony’s not coming,” Steve said quietly as Natasha let him in. “He… he’s staying with Pepper and the baby.”
Natasha nodded once, her face unreadable. “Good for him.”
She didn’t mean it. Not tonight.
Steve stepped inside, shaking the snow off his coat. The apartment was warmer than outside but not by much. Natasha returned to the couch without another word, the knife still in her hands, though she didn’t pick up where she’d left off. Val closed his book but didn’t move, staring blankly at the cover before sliding it aside.
Steve sat at the kitchen table, across from Val, his hands folded in front of him as if he didn’t know what to do with them. After a moment, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out two small gifts, wrapped in plain brown paper. He set them on the table.
“Here,” he said softly. “It’s not much.”
Val looked at the gifts, his mouth pressing into a thin line. “We didn’t get you anything.”
Steve just shook his head. “It’s okay.”
Natasha finally spoke, her voice quiet but steady. “You didn’t have to bring gifts, Steve.”
“I know,” Steve said, almost too quickly. He leaned back in his chair, his gaze flickering between the two of them. “I just… I didn’t want to show up empty-handed.”
Neither Val nor Natasha moved to open the gifts right away. They just sat there in silence, the kind that came with years of unspoken grief. Outside, the snow kept falling, the flakes blurring the view through the window, as though even the world outside didn’t want to be seen.
After what felt like an eternity, Natasha stood up. She didn’t say anything, just grabbed her coat from where it was draped over a chair. “Let’s go,” she muttered.
Val frowned. “Where?”
“Out.”
Steve followed her lead, pulling his coat back on, and after a moment of hesitation, Val did too. The three of them stepped outside into the cold, the sharp winter air biting at their faces as they walked without direction. The streets were quiet, the city tucked away for the night. Christmas lights blinked faintly from a few windows, but most of the houses were dark, their occupants likely wrapped in warmth and laughter somewhere behind closed doors.
Their footsteps crunched in the snow, the sound too loud in the silence. They didn’t talk—not at first. Steve walked a few steps ahead, his shoulders hunched, as though the weight he carried this year was heavier than usual. Val kept his hands shoved deep in his coat pockets, his head down, eyes tracing the patterns of snowdrifts by the sidewalk. Natasha walked beside him, her breath coming out in faint clouds.
The faint twinkle of Christmas lights reflected off the snow, casting the ground in flashes of red and green and gold. The colors looked too cheerful for the night, almost mocking in their brightness.
At some point, Steve slowed, falling back to walk between Natasha and Val. He glanced up at the lights strung across a nearby tree, and for a moment, his face softened, something almost wistful crossing his expression.
“You remember when this felt different?” Steve’s voice was quiet, but it carried in the stillness.
Natasha’s eyes flicked toward him. “What do you mean?”
He gestured vaguely to the lights, the snow, the empty street. “Christmas. All of this. It used to feel… hopeful.”
“Used to,” Val muttered, his voice bitter, like he was trying to choke down something sharp.
Steve sighed, looking down at his feet. “Yeah.”
They reached a small park, empty except for the fresh layer of snow covering the benches and walkways. Steve stopped, and the others followed suit. He turned slightly, his gaze flickering between Val and Natasha. “I think it’s okay,” he said softly, “to still hope for something.”
Natasha didn’t answer. She crossed her arms, staring at the snow, the faint glow of a lamppost catching the tears she hadn’t realized were gathering in her eyes. Val swallowed hard, his throat tight as he blinked quickly, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets.
The three of them stood there for a while, silent in the cold. Snowflakes settled on their shoulders and hair, melting slowly from the warmth they hadn’t yet lost. Val looked up, his eyes tracing the soft fall of snowflakes against the dim glow of the lamplight. He’d forgotten how beautiful it could be—how quiet, how gentle.
It wasn’t enough to fix anything, but for a moment, it dulled the edges.
After a while, Natasha turned, her voice low and rough. “We should go back.”
Steve nodded, and Val followed, trailing behind them as they walked. The silence between them felt heavier this time, but it wasn’t empty. It was shared.
When they reached the apartment again, they didn’t bother with coffee or gifts or conversation. Val sank into his chair again, Natasha dropped her coat over the couch, and Steve lingered by the window, watching the snow pile higher outside.
“It’s just another day,” Val said quietly, echoing himself from a year before. But this time, the words felt like a confession, like he wasn’t sure he believed it.
Steve turned from the window, his voice steady but soft. “Maybe. But we’re still here.”
Natasha didn’t say anything. She just picked up her knife again, but her hands didn’t move. Instead, she stared at the blade, her expression unreadable.
The snow fell harder outside, burying the city in white. The lights in the distance still blinked, bright and relentless, but the apartment stayed dim.