"Now our lives are changing fast /

Hope that something pure can last"

—Arcade Fire, "We Used to Wait"

The American Dream

Man's Best Friend

Agent Romanoff predicted she wouldn't be seeing Captain Rogers or his wife again today (couples reuniting and all that). So when Claire stormed up to her and demanded "girl time," she almost refused. Fury's mocking tone scraping her nerves didn't put her in position to deal with an unstable target. However, she received a mission. The mission came first. Shoving down all her frustration and pride, Agent Romanoff inclined her head and submitted herself to whatever "girl time" implied—which she never should have done. She avoided ignorant decisions, but sometimes the options were slim and reliable information sparse, and she ended up on the wrong end of a very uneducated choice. Like right now.

"Well, go on!"

"Excuse me?" Agent Romanoff furrowed her forehead.

"Mr. Fury said you're a spy. So, I figured you must be dying to ask me some questions. And here I am giving you the permission to ask me anything!" Claire smiled in the seat next to her. She appeared genuinely excited and open.

Agent Romanoff, in fact, was not dying to know anything, but she wasn't one to let such prospects be left on the plate like the vegetables from a child's meal to be snuck to the dog. "You knew."

Claire huffed, "That ain't much of a question."

"You knew something was hidden," she continued, driving down the highway. "You just didn't know what. His face was on the every news channel. He is the icon for patriotic propaganda. How did you not know?"

"You're right about knowing something. A man can't hide anything forever." Claire pursed her shiny-glossed lips together (she looked almost pretty with the help of makeup). "I just figured I'd give him space and time because for whatever reason he decided not to tell me about this alter ego. Something in him snapped. He couldn't take it. Sometimes it's better if you don't force a person to tell you their deepest, darkest secret. Often you don't want to know it, and they just end up hating you."

Agent Romanoff hummed in agreement. Most of her missions followed that story line.

"I'd thought it was something like he's a recovered drug addict or has some freaky fetish, nothing we couldn't work though."

She keyed in. "You don't think you can handle having your husband be an Avenger?"

"I don't think I can handle having my husband risk his life for a bunch of ungrateful, low down SOBs," Claire snapped. She watched the news reels online. She saw the reactions from the attack on New York.

"It's not about the secret."

"Never was. I didn't date cops, firefighters, and soldiers for a reason. Almost didn't date Jas—Steve because he worked for Park. I watched what it was like for my mom. Not knowing if her husband might end up shot in a hospital or dead on the street. I know what it's like to grow up not knowing your dad because he's too exhausted to play with his kid or worrying about rescuing other kids. I'm going to have none of that for Maxy." Her strong tone wavered. "That's what I originally planned, but I ain't so sure now..."

This was the dramatic part Agent Romanoff did not like or cared to hear about. She could manipulate emotions and get the needed information, but once it began to overflow she's the one who becomes uncomfortable—not the target, not like how it's suppose to be.

Claire fiddled with her hair (it was annoying and timid). "Do you ever have trouble separating who you are and who you are for the job? Steve has Jason, I guess, to create a distinction. But what about you?'

Agent Romanoff almost didn't answer the question. It was too personal. But she didn't want Mrs. Schwann making any fanciful, misguided judgments based on whatever she's learned through Fury and his revised files. "Sarah, Francine, Elizabeth, Carrie, Annie—these are some of the people I've been. Now, I have no reason to be anyone but myself. Inside and outside of work I am Natasha Romanoff. I am the Black Widow," she declared.

Claire stared, and then mumbled, "Each to her own."

After an hour of simply meandering through a mediocre mall and pretending she cared about the things Claire pointed out, she interrupted, "What are we doing?" They were near the food court, smells of Chinese and greasy pizza stuck to her.

"Girl time," the brunette faltered, unsure of her own words. "Haven't you done this before?"

"No," Agent Romanoff deadpanned. She expected some type of lecture on the importance of being a woman and getting away from men and something horribly cliché. "I guess that makes two of us," was the unprecedented response.

Yearning for an insight to their family dynamics, the spy pushed, "What do you mean?"

"Steve has to drag me out to go shopping. He loves it, though. I never got it, but it makes sense now, I guess. He's still amazed by what you can buy in stores. It kills him when he buys products from China or whatever. Such a patriot, through and through."

Agent Romanoff thought of their brief conversation. "Stopped acting like Captain America," his tired voice murmured through her impatience. Instead of commenting, however, she steered the conversation in another way. "You called him Steve."

"Ain't that his name?" Claire joked. It was a poor cover up for her anxiety.

"What does that mean?" The S.H.I.E.L.D agent knew she breeched into unsafe territory. She saw it by the way her target's shoulders tightened and drew in, angled her body, and squinted her eyes. Natasha didn't care. She wanted to be reckless, if only to torque Fury if Claire left.

"It means I'm trying to get to know a stranger pretty fast so he can go back to being my husband," Mrs. Schwann clipped.

"It's not going to click back into place."

Her target frowned. "I think I know why I've never had "girl time" before."

Agent Romanoff agreed.

It's been a week. Director Fury was right. Claire was still here and so was the Captain. Agent Romanoff didn't encourage her to remain at SHIELD. One could argue she ignored certain aspects of the mission. If a report was created, it would note the number of disagreements Mrs. Schwann and she had (although only through brief, verbal exchanges). Natasha disliked Claire and tried to prevent the woman from constantly seeking her out. Unfortunately, the target gravitated to her. Why? The agent didn't care. She didn't want to know because she predicted it was linked to Captain Rogers—who she's not seen since his arrival. She is the Black Widow. She doesn't have time for drama associate with pregnancy, families, and having an alternate life.

Director Fury disagrees. "Keeping Claire here and protected is your primary concern. Unless Loki escapes, the Tesseract goes missing, or aliens invade: You. Stay. Here." He valiantly ignored Agent Romanoff for the next hour as she hovered in the shadows. The recon missions never so appealing as now.

Agent Barton arrives back at headquarters early. "Nat," he greets when they meet in the cafeteria for their traditional meal of cheeseburgers (a reminder they're safely back in the States). "How is he?"

She chews on her food.

Clint scoffs, "Really? Figures." He bites into the sandwich as if was to blame for her bad mood. They sat on faded, worn benches and ate on chipped, flaking tables. Funding was low. Most of SHIELD's money was allocated to the reconstruction of New York City and then any following places which received damage due to Avenger activity. It was a part of the Contract, an agreement with a whole lot of clauses and red tape created by the Council to harness Director Fury, SHIELD, and the Avengers Initiative. Well, to try to. Their effort was bemusing. Despite the cafeteria's grungy atmosphere, it was home. It wasn't a cold, utilitarian place. It had character.

Then there's Rogers, trailing after Maxy. He shaved and cut his hair. He looks like Captain America again. During World War Two people needed a symbol of Patriotism and War. Now, the citizens of the United States needed a symbol of Peace and Unity. What spoke of these two things more so than the greatest soldier laying down his arms and uniform to become a husband and a father? It would be great for publicity; Fury knew that, of course. He was a master manipulator, though.

Maxy's begging echoed across the room. He wants fruit gummies. Rogers convinces him a fruit cup was better. The kid believes him.

"Nat."

She glances at her cheeseburger. Clint sighs and fiddles with a floppy French fry.

"Have you met her yet?"

He knew what she was talking about. "I read her file. Fury's holding a lot back, isn't he? Did she really not know?"

Natasha hums. Maxy screws up his face at a sour blueberry. Steve laughs. Happy. How could he be happy now? His world is gone. The one he's tried to build disintegrates—and he doesn't know it. He assumes good footing, but really the trail ahead is sandy and uphill.

He'll find out soon enough. She doesn't mourn his loss of innocence. "Everyone's going to be at the meeting," she states.

"It's been three years since we've been together as a team." Clint scratches at his eyebrow. He's exhausted and grateful he doesn't have to fortify himself for a congregation of six superheroes.

"A lot will be revealed."

He stares at her. "A lot has already been reveled." She glances at him before going back to watching Steve and Maxy.

Author: Although this chapter might have felt like it dragged (and was repetitive) I hinted at the real plot! Fancy~ I hoped you paid attention. =]

Also, if you can think of any other idioms/clichés relating to the idea of the American Dream, let me know! I'm starting to run out of chapter titles! xD

I'm still on a hunt for a good beta reader, as well!

Thank you everyone for your kind and encouraging words as well as all favorites and followings! Please, continue! I would love to know where you think I'm going to take this story!