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"Just a city boy, born and raised in south Detroit…"
Clint walked into the kitchen singing to himself. Steve and Thor sat at the table, sharing a large pizza.
"You should have been a skald with a voice as fine as that," Thor praised. Clint must have looked confused (and Steve definitely looked confused) because Thor added, "A skald is a singer of heroic tales."
Steve swallowed his pizza and said, "That song sounds kind of familiar. What's it called?"
"'Don't Stop Believing,'" Clint answered, reaching into the refrigerator for a bottle of water.
"Oh, yeah," Steve nodded. "It was on that show with the high school choir. 'Glee,' right?"
Clint stopped, one hand in the fridge, and fixed him with a basilisk glare. Steve didn't know what he'd done wrong, and sent a questioning glance to Thor, who shrugged and crammed some pizza crusts in his mouth.
"Go get dressed," Clint ordered, slamming the door. "We're going out."
"Aren't those a little tight?"
"They're perfectly comfortable. Besides, the ladies appreciate my rear view in them." Thor looked over his shoulder and grinned down at his "rear view." The jeans were black and he wore his favorite AC/DC shirt.
Steve, wearing less constrictive jeans and a short-sleeved dress shirt, felt a little suspicious. "What ladies?"
"All of them, I suppose," Thor answered casually. "But Pepper and Darcy and Natasha and Jane specifically."
"They've been…appreciating your rear?"
"Worry not, friend, they appreciate yours as well. All of ours, in fact. Darcy said she's never seen a group of asses this fine outside a donkey farm."
Clint came in just then, in dark jeans, motorcycle boots, and a tight black t-shirt. He ran a critical eye over the two men, quickly approving of Thor's outfit. Steve just looked too much like…Steve.
"Rogers, at least fix your hair."
His hands immediately smoothed over his head. "What's wrong with it?"
"Nothing. That's the problem. Looking like that, you're gonna come across as some rich guy slumming it. Everybody hates that guy."
Steve felt both flattered—no one had ever mistaken him for a rich man before—and alarmed. "What should I do?"
"Lose the button-down." He was wearing a dark red t-shirt underneath. "Good enough. Untuck that shirt. And let me see your head."
He leaned down and Clint ran his hands through Steve's hair, messing it up and then pushing it back until Steve had something like a mini pompadour. Clint stood back to gauge his work with a critical eye. Steve looked better, but still a little off.
"Try to look less alert and more jaded and contemptuous." Steve rolled his eyes. "That's a start. Keep working on it."
Bruce pulled the sticky note off the door to the lab. Tony read it over his shoulder.
Taking the blonds out for the night. Back late.
"Aw, why don't we get to go?" Tony whined.
Bruce patted his arm. "Come on. We can get some Indian food and watch 'Top Gear.'"
Tony beamed. "You're the best, Brucie."
They stopped outside a set of steps leading into a basement club. Rough-looking types loitered outside, and Steve tried his best to feel at ease. Clint, now shaking hands with a man in a black shirt by the steps, wouldn't lead them into any actual danger. Before they filed down the steps, the assassin turned to his teammates with a feral grin.
"Boys, it's about to get loud."
The club was full of people and noise. Loud music was playing over the speakers, a band was setting up on the stage, and Clint led them to the bar, where he got three plastic cups of beer and handed them to the others. They stood in a huddle.
"We are here to learn about rock. The bands tonight are playing covers of famous songs. Listen and learn. Any questions, remember them and ask later. For now, relax and enjoy."
They turned to face the stage and stood waiting for the band to start. A woman in a tight red tank top strutted past, and all three stared at her. Clint smiled and put his arms around his friends' necks.
"And that, gentlemen, is the other reason you're here. Are you familiar with the concept of the wingman?"
The immersion program was the first step. The second was to provide them with the tools to continue their study. It took Clint a few days to come up with a good list and burn the CDs. He attached a track list and stuck a note on each one, explaining that it would be impossible to come up with a definitive list of rock songs, but these were a few iconic classics that they should know. The list included everything from the Kingsmen to Skynyrd to Clapton to the Who. Clint thought it was at least a good starting place for them.
Thor took to the music like a duck to water. It was loud and energetic, with driving drums, bright cymbals and furious guitars, like the sound of a feast on a battlefield in the midst of a storm. His only problem was trying to decide whether "Thunderstruck" or "Immigrant Song" was his favorite. Sometimes Clint thought he heard Led Zeppelin's howls during particularly spectacular thunderstorms.
It took Steve a while longer to get used to the new sounds. No surprise there; he was used to the more melodic tunes of the past, when you could still sing along to the dance music. Still, there had to be something in modern rock that he could get in to, if he just gave it some time. Clint knew he was coming around when he heard Springsteen blaring from the gym while Steve was working out, and he knew Steve was converted when he heard Cap jumping rope and singing "…Baby, we were born to run."
