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Darcy flipped the envelope in her hands a few time, cataloguing the skid marks, the dents, and even the rogue glitter that had somehow crept out from the inside. She’d never seen anything quite like it in her whole adult life, if she was honest.
It had clearly been through the wringer.
She checked her tiny assigned mailbox more closely, making sure there wasn’t any mail stuck in there along with it. Was this on her? Was it the post office’s issue? A little from column A, a little from column B.
God, she swore on Captain America himself that this was the last time she left her mailbox sitting for this long. What had it been since she’d last checked it? A month? Ugh, she really had to start making the trip down to the mailroom a little more often.
She turned the envelope over in her hands again.
If she squinted hard enough, Darcy could just make out the original postmarked year among the chaos of stamps reading everything from ’return to sender’ to ‘wrong address’ and even a handwritten ‘somehow this ended up in goddamn Arkansas, wtf USPS?’ in blue ink.
Wait— did that say 2019?
Now that she thought about it, it did have a sort of festive motif. The cerulean trimmed envelope, the white glitter trailing from a small tear in the corner, the loopy penmanship on the front that looked oddly familiar. Ye olde script and all. Kind of how she’d expect Steve to write if she was feeling particularly sassy.
And no return address? Hm.
“What do you have there?”
Darcy crooked an eyebrow at the voice. Speak of the devil and the devil will probably have a favour to ask you. That was the way the saying went, right? Because Steve Rogers was never in the mail room.
And that wasn’t hyperbole. Darcy had it on good authority that his mail took a few extra security checks and was hand-delivered to his suite once they were cleared. So, clearly he was here for a reason. Something he probably felt awkward asking her for.
It wasn’t like they were on texting terms or anything on the friendship scale quite yet.
Curiosity aside, Darcy focussed on his original question and offered a soft smile, “I think this little guy went on quite the ride.”
She held the envelope up to Steve’s line of vision, managing to get a huff of a laugh out of him at the sight. “Who from?”
“No idea.”
Which was the truth, and she wasn’t about to spoil the surprise right here in front of him. He’d definitely have to at least buy her lunch before she went around handing him the results of her limited array of interesting anecdotes.
But Steve stood in the doorway, smiling slipping off his face. She could almost see the hamster wheel in his head turning as he tried to get out whatever he came to get her for.
“What’s up, Steve?” Darcy asked, a little thrown off by his lack of chatter.
He grimaced, “I actually have a favour to ask you.”
“Of course you do,” Darcy chuckled. “Well, spit it out.”
Darcy would have inserted an ‘I told you so’ here, but almost felt bad about it.
“I just got called out for an emergency mission, and the rest of the team is home with their families,” Steve started with that Captain America-branded guilt across his face. “I was wondering if you minded just keeping an eye on Wanda tonight? She’s been a little down lately and I think she’d appreciate having you around if you’re up to it. Plus, the kitchen’s fully stocked with treats.”
Wanda was down? Darcy frowned, trying to think if she’d noticed anything the last time she’d seen her. But she couldn’t quite place when they’d last hung out.
“I know you both don’t exactly do Christmas but, I just thought it would be nice…” Steve seemed to mistake her delayed response for hesitation, stuttering like the skinny he’d left behind in the ’40s. “If you’re busy or maybe I’m just making too big a deal—”
“No!” Darcy said a little too quickly and a little too loudly at the thought of leaving Wanda alone in the Compound for the night. “No, it’s fine, Steve. I don’t mind at all. I’ll step outside of my hobbit-holing ways and spread some good old-fashioned Christmas cheer. I’ve seen enough Hallmark movies to know the gist of it.”
Steve her a grateful smile that could have lit up the night sky.
“Thanks, Darcy. You’re a good friend.”
Darcy plastered on a smile as Steve beelined back towards the training room which promptly dropped off once he was out of sight. Her brain went into overdrive, wondering just how she would cheer her up as her body led them back to her room on autopilot.
Hot cocoa was high on the list, with a little extra cinnamon for Wanda— just how she liked it. Though it had been a while since they’d sat in the kitchen, gossiping over a piping hot batch side-by-side on the couch. Maybe she could pull up some cheesy holiday romantic comedies so they could share a blanket (to conserve heat, of course) and a bowl of popcorn (because whoever stocked the kitchen always ordered super-soldier sized bags).
Come to think of it, they hadn’t done that yet this year.
It was the click of her key in the lock that snapped her out of it, envelope in-hand catching Darcy’s eye again once her brain finished fretting. She pushed back the memories of sharing her mittens with Wanda beneath the towering tree at Rockefeller Centre and tried to focus on the task at hand.
Right— she still had to figure out who sent the thing.
At least it’s lengthy cross-country detour would make for an amusing story for whatever poor sender shipped it. She was two steps past her door, careful to keep the stamps intact as evidence as she carefully cut the envelope with a mail opener, reaching in to fish it out.
The card itself was a blue and white glittered dreidel on the front, printed on thick, textured card. It almost felt handmade, or at least custom ordered with no stamp or barcode on the back.
Well, that cut down the list of possible senders, at least.
There was something oddly personal about the seemingly simple gesture that warmed her heart. Over the years, people always ended up giving her generic happy holidays cards, unsure of whether the thought of Christmas would offend her. Pussyfooting around ’holiday’ terminology like she was some ticking time-bomb.
But in truth, Darcy may have been Jewish by ancestry, but she’d never been brought up in the faith. She’d spent most of her life having been passed around ambiguously Christian foster home after foster home on her way to ageing out. But there was a curiosity about her heritage.
It was part of the reason why her and Wanda had grown so close last holiday season. Darcy had taken to peppering her with questions about her family’s traditions over cocoa and day-trips to the city. They’d spent entire days in the kitchen sharing her favourite family recipes and learning about traditions she’d only ever read in books.
On that note, she reminded herself to bring over some of the sugar cookies she’d baked last night. Steve and Bucky had probably demolished the few dozen she’d left in the kitchen.
But back to the card. Darcy felt a little like she was unravelling some mystery (Miss Marple, eat your heart out!) as she pulled open the cover and started reading through.
‘Dear Darcy.’
As she read, Darcy realized the handwriting was a very familiar set of left-leaning loops and flourishes in blue ink. Feminine. Her eyes darted down to the bottom to the signature, widening as the sentences blended together, urging her on.
‘I didn’t know how to tell you this in person, so I thought it may be easier to write down. I started to think of all the things I was thankful for this year and there was one thing that sprung to the top of the list every time:’
Scrambling for her couch with one hand because she just couldn’t look away from the note, Darcy tried to still her hand shaking as she sat down. It was getting harder to read it, line blurring with the tremors, but she could definitely make out the next word.
‘You.’
It took the fourth time reading the line for the last word to really sink in.
‘I’m so thankful for all the lovely moments we’ve shared this year, like when you showed me around New York City and took me to your favourite restaurants.’
Darcy’s heart thumped against her ribs as she read on, almost knowing exactly what she’d write next before she’d read it.
‘Even all the cheesy romantic comedies we picked apart on the couch, tangled beneath the blanket (which you definitely kept stealing, but I didn’t mind).’
Darcy couldn’t help the smile that stretched across her lips at the thought, her nervous chuckle sounding a little strained as her throat tightened.
‘And I don’t know if you feel the same way, so I don’t want to make this awkward.’
A tear had slipped through the fray, blurring her vision until the words turned into a black blob on the page. It was like a punch to the gut, realizing all those little smiles she shot her in the hallway, the way she always leaned in close when they were talking, the way she played with Darcy’s hair or bracelets, they were all leading up to the holidays last year.
All those hints felt like Acme anvils now, weighing down the pit of her stomach, because most of them had stopped since.
Darcy had just assumed Wanda had been busy, maybe she’d been seeing someone, but it was a noticeable absence— she’d be lying to herself if she said it wasn’t. There was always that spark, that mischievous look, that expression she couldn’t decode…
Fuck. She had to make this right.
Darcy dressed herself in a flurry, throwing on a wool coat and scarf faster than her brain could process. Limbs and operating autonomously as she tried to piece together what she would say.
What could she even say to that?
‘I want you to know that if you don’t, I appreciate your friendship and truly hope that this doesn’t change anything between us.’
All she had to do was cross the lawn to the Compound, find Wanda and talk.
She was three steps past the threshold when she realized her converse probably weren’t going to work for the two feet of snow outside.
Revised plan: put on boots, cross the lawn to the Compound, find Wanda and talk.
‘I’ve never felt this way with anyone else before— the flutter in my belly seems like something straight out of one of those silly films.’
“Darcy?”
Between the heaving and panting and peeling off of wet layers, Darcy managed to spot Wanda before her eyes adjusted to the unlit empty common room.
“Are you OK?” Wanda asked gently, oscillating somewhere between confusion and concern.
How did she not look like a total insane person in this scenario? Because ‘I just got your card from last year (yeah, USPS is definitely under-funded) and needed to tell you in person why I stood you up like a total jerk even though you wrote me a gorgeous, heartfelt card’ seemed like a bit of a mouthful.
Yeah, probably not the way to go, not when she was already breathless from the trek through the snow.
“I. Got. Your. Card,” Darcy managed to sputter out, holding back the chatter of the chill lingering in her bones. It was getting hard to feel her extremities, but she wasn’t sure if it was the nerves or the cold.
“My card?”
Darcy pulled the envelope carefully out of her breast pocket and handed it to Wanda, “Your Hanukkah card, from last year.”
Wanda’s mouth fell open as she ran her fingertips over the stamps and pen scribbles on the outside.
“Why didn’t you just give it to me in person?”
“I was worried you’d open it in front of me, and then if you didn’t feel the same…” Wanda said with a sad smile, eyes dropping back down to the ground like she was bracing for impact. “I just assumed you didn’t feel the same and wanted to be friends. Maybe the postal service was trying to spare me the shame.”
‘Maybe this doesn’t make any sense. Maybe I’m a little crazy for thinking this way.’
“Wanda,” Darcy said, reaching out for her hand tentatively, nearly breathing a sigh of relief when Wanda didn’t protest at a gentle squeeze. “I’m so sorry you thought that. I— I’m so truly sorry that I didn’t see this sooner.”
Wanda shook her head, “You don’t have to do this. It’s fine if you don’t—”
“It’s not fine. You poured your heart out to me and I must have looked like such a jerk,” Darcy said, anger at herself (and a little at the postal system) seeping through. “You asked to spend the rest of the year together at the end, right?”
They both looked up at the giant 10-foot spruce in the living room, towering above where they were standing. Twinkling lights bright as the sun that had long left the sky.
‘But if you feel the same way I do —the way I have for a while now— then I hope we can spend the last few weeks of the year together.’
Darcy’s heart couldn’t quite take the image of Wanda waiting last December, the sad look in her eyes just a hint of what she might have felt that night. Darcy had missed it by a year and a week. No wonder Wanda hadn’t invited her to make latkes this year. Or tested her dreidel skills, sneakily using red tendrils of magic to keep her awful attempts spinning longer.
No wonder this year had missed the spark she felt last.
And for a second, she worried whether the moment had already passed. If she’d moved on or lost interest. If it’d turned her off from the idea of giving this—them— a try.
“So, I’m here,” Darcy whispered, reaching for Wanda’s other hand. “If you want me to be here—”
Wanda leaned in before either of them could get another word out, lips slanting against Darcy experimentally. Something clicked between them then. Somewhere between Darcy’s hand framing Wanda’s neck to widen the kiss and the quiet moan that escaped Wanda’s lips as they pulled away breathless, a warmth spread in her chest.
It just felt right. Safe. Familiar.
Darcy had never been so happy to be shut up with a kiss in her life, heart clenching at the broad smile painting Wanda’s face.
“I always want you, Darcy. Everywhere that I am.”
Darcy squeezed her hand, “From here on in.”
‘Yours always, Wanda’