“You sure this is a Christmas movie?” Steve asks, glancing up from the neon pink bikini he’s wrapping in festive Iggy Azalea wrapping paper to give the television an odd look.
“Dude, this is the only Christmas movie,” Darcy says, offended.
“‘Now I have a machine gun’,” Steve reads off the screen, squinting doubtfully. “‘Ho ho ho.’”
“See?!” Darcy demands. “Christmas! Why are you such a hater, Cap, this is a cinematic masterpiece of our times.”
“Isn’t it older than you?” Steve asks, tying a ribbon around the package and then setting it to the side.
“You are a funsucker and a liferuiner,” Darcy sighs, dropping down next to him on the couch and peering at what he’s doing. “And a super old man. Are you seriously already wrapping your gifts? You know you’ve got, like, two weeks until Christmas, right? Why are you even-- is that a Bucky Bear.”
“Yes,” Steve says, laying said Bucky Bear neatly on top of a sheet of Avengers-themed wrapping paper and folding it up nicely around it.
“Uh, isn’t Barnes still in the wind?” Darcy asks cautiously, her eyebrows raising.
“I’m just going to leave it in a defunct SHIELD warehouse and leave a false trail of intel,” Steve replies practically, taping a candy cane to the package and then sticking an exceptionally glittery bow on top. Darcy squints at it, then eyes him again.
“Oh my god,” she marvels. “You’re seriously giving the Winter Soldier a Bucky Bear. Are you trying to make him cry or trying to troll him?”
“I have no idea what that fancy new-fangled lingo even means,” Steve says mildly, moving on to the pair of running shoes that are next in the to-wrap pile, and Darcy makes a delighted noise and covers her mouth with her hands, eyes glittering.
“Oh my god, you are my hero. My superhero. My super superhero. Please tell me what you got for Tony Stark,” she says, delighted. “Please.”
“A parachute,” Steve says, and Darcy makes an incoherent sound of glee.
“You are my favorite. My favorite favorite,” she declares. “What about me, do I get a thing? I want a thing!”
“After this?” Steve asks, glancing up at her with a crooked little almost-smile. “Probably C-4.”
“I’m gonna be right back,” Darcy says, jerking a thumb towards the door and fanning herself a little with her free hand. “All the mistletoe is on Stark’s floor and I clearly need to correct that error.”
“Yippee ki yay,” Steve replies, smile widening into a smirk.
“. . . actually, you know, I’mma get the mistletoe from the lobby too.”