Steve briskly strides up the path leading up to the farmhouse, he was eager to be done with this and to go back to Avengers Mansion. A long hot shower was in order after today's fight. …If he was let in the Mansion at all with how caked he was in mud and muck. Iron Man was probably within his right to hose him down outside first, the thought brought a smile to his face.
It was only a small mission, with only him in attendance to deal with a monster that was living in a farmer's barn. The thing seemed to be made entirely made of mud and grime, he wondered if he should mention to the owner of the place that his barn may need a bit of cleaning now.
Steve looks up and sees the man waiting outside on the farmhouse porch with a warm smile. "The monster is dealt with, sir. Your ban is safe now" he says, shaking the farmer's offered hand.
"Thank you, Captain. Thank you. Really. I don' think I woulda known even where to begin with handlin' that. The Cops wouldn' believe me, if you hadnta come… well, I woulda gone outta business. No way I coulda got any work done with all my machines trapped in there!" The man said earnestly.
Steve smiled pulling back his hand, "It was no problem. I'm glad to have helped". He turns slightly ready to leave "Well, I best be off-", however, he is stopped.
The farmer calls out "Captain, wait!" and goes to retrieve a small box from the bench by the front door "I want you to have these, as thanks". The box is held out for him.
Inwardly, Steve groans. "We don't really accept gifts in exchange for what we do. Sorry, I really can't accept" he puts gently, hoping that he has not hurt or upset the man too much by refusing. He sees the man's face sink a little and feels bad for turning the gift down. But there is a stubborn spark in the man's eyes and Steve hopes this is not going to be an argument.
"I understand that, Captain. But," The farmer begins, his hands carefully moving to open the box up to revile its contents.
Steve remains stock still in an attempt not to bury his face in his hands. He is tired and filthy, and he really wants a shower. What he doesn't want is to argue this as the sun and the mud coating him sets. The farmer moves in closer to show him what is inside, nearly a dozen chicken eggs of different colours.
"But surely this wouldn be too bad, huh? Justa few of my hen's eggs" He says with a grin.
Steve looks down at the eggs with consideration. Food wasn't so bad. There has been plenty of times people have shown gratitude to their heroes with food. Even during the war, thankful towns liberated would happily share some food with the Howling Commanders and himself. It wasn't so bad really.
With a smile he carefully takes the box "I suppose I could. Thank you". The farmer's grin widens, pleased.
"No worries, enjoy. Take care, Captain" the farmer waves his goodbye and moves to head indoors.
"You too" Steve replies as he heads off down the path towards his bike, box carefully held within his hands.
Steve moves over to the stove, box in hand, feeling much better after his shower. His next course of action were those eggs. Whilst in the shower, he had decided to simply fry them up. An easy and quick meal, then he can head off to rest.
He places a large pan on the stove carefully to keep the noise down, in case any of the others were trying to sleep. There were no other calls for aid that he was aware of, but that was beside the point. He lights the stove then moves to pick up one of his eggs carefully.
It is a rich dark brown colour with little speckles all over it. It has quite a weight to it, heavier than the ones from your local supermarket. He rolls it around in his palm a bit to look at all the speckles, noticing the odd shifting of the weight within the egg.
Steve turns back towards the stove, egg at the ready. He goes to crack the egg on the side of the pan but pauses. He pulls his hand back slightly. Just enough so that the flames from the stove shine through the egg. A majority of the egg glows a bright orangey-yellow. But there is a dark spot with little veins running from it.
Steve puts the egg down on the counter carefully. "JARVIS?" he calls out, eyeing the egg suspiciously.
"May I be of assistance, Captain?" JARVIS responds.
"Yeah. How do you tell if an egg is fertile?" he asks.
JARVIS explains to 'candling', which apparently is what had done, abut unintentionally. By holding the egg over the flame, due to the thin nature of the eggshells, he should be able through the egg enough to see if there may be something in there. If the egg has a practically dark centre it tends to indicate the presence of a chick inside.
Cautiously he picks the egg up and moves it over the flame. The egg does appear to hold a little chick inside. "Huh" He quickly puts it back in the box and pulls out another.
After testing the rest and finding them all to be fertile, Steve simply stares at them.
Did the farmer know? Steve wonders as he turns off the stove. The guy did not mention that they were fertile. He also, however, did not say they were for eating either. Should he return them? Did the guy give him the wrong box of eggs?
But, it does not make sense that he would; the guy would most likely have a proper incubation area for his fertile eggs. He would probably take close care of which eggs were fertile and which were not. The eggs were likely purposely fertilized. He could not imagine the guy selling fertile eggs to the market to be eaten, nor that he would give away fertile eggs from his hens if they were meat hens. He would likely just be giving away his probably special meat hen breed if he did so.
So this was probably purposeful, but why would he give him fertile eggs? Why would anyone think an Avenger would want or need fertile eggs? What would he do with them? Steve looks down at them thoughtfully and bites his lip. Could he hatch them? Should he? He is pretty sure there would be a 'No Pet' rule in Avengers Mansion.
Steve picks the box up carefully, he looks to the bin and he realizes he could not just dispose of them. He draws his attention back towards the eggs feeling uncertain. He would not just throw them away. But finding homes for the eggs in the middle of New York? Yeah, he knows that would be very difficult. And they might not make it in the time to find them a new home.
Determination fills him when he decides what he will do. He will hatch them himself, then find them new homes. It was the clearest path of action. He will keep them hidden… somewhere… the closet maybe? He holds the box firmly to his chest as walks bristly to his room, careful to be as quiet and unnoticeable as possible.
TBC
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Notes:
I love chickens... Have raised them since I was very little. I have always adored them and spent hours trying to learn all I could about different breeds.
Am I excited that all those years of looking up chicken info and reading chicken books may actually be someone of a use in one of my fanfictions? YES, ABSOLUTELY XD
...This is my first fanfiction in the Marvel Universe ^w^
...I have already decided what chickens he will have. The egg colours kind of show that, I guess, but it is not much of a clue. I also have a name picked out for one. (In case of this question being brought up. He is a produce farmer, who sells different chickens breeds to families who want their own birds. Kind of like the farm where we got most of our hens from. They had cattle, goats and the likes for produce. Chicken breeding was another source of income.)
Ps. I couldn't put the images in this but it has fanart to go with it. On AO3 this story has the images in it.