May 2012, somewhere between New York and Florida
They had been on the road for a while now, and still Clint hadn't spoken. His feet were propped up on the dashboard, his eyes hidden behind shades, and - if Natasha hadn't known better - she would have thought him asleep.
Except she did know better, and his breathing told her he was awake.
"So," she said eventually. "You got a dog?"
"Why did you tell Kate?" Clint asked.
Natasha raised an eyebrow. "I think you'll find that question doesn't answer mine."
"I have gone to a lot of trouble to keep SHIELD away from them all," Clint said. "Especially Kate. Why did you tell her?"
"I didn't," Natasha said. "She told me."
She saw him frown out of the corner of her eye. "What?"
"Kate knows you're a fed of some sort," Natasha said. "And the news has reported there was an archer helping with the invasion. She wanted to know if you were okay."
"What did you tell her?" Clint asked.
Natasha sighed. "That you weren't yet, but that was why we were leaving town for a bit. She called you her dad," she added before Clint could protest. "It threw me."
"You're a spy," Clint grumbled. "How do you get thrown by a fifteen year old?!"
"A fifteen year old you adopted and didn't tell me," Natasha said.
"I haven't adopted her!" Clint protested. "Her parents are shit and don't care so I do instead. And for the record, I don't have to tell you everything, Natasha."
Of course Clint had spoken about Kate - and, yes, maybe if Natasha had thought about it in any depth, she would have realised that he thought of the girl as a daughter. She didn't need him to state that plainly.
Or she shouldn't have done.
On any normal day, he would have told her that. Maybe apologised for the misunderstanding, because he knew the way the Red Room had skewed her perspective.
Today he was trying to start a fight.
She knew that, so she tampered down her frustration and took a deep breath. "I know," she said calmly. "I was just surprised, is all."
"I don't know everything about your life," Clint said.
Natasha didn't respond for a moment, thinking it over. "You do actually," she said eventually. "I don't have anything that you don't know about." She thought for a bit longer. "You don't know the exact coordinates of every single one of my safe-houses. That's about it."
Clint didn't respond, and Natasha didn't press him to.
The next time she pulled in at a service station, he got out of the car as well and stretched. "Want me to drive for a bit?"
"You don't know where we're going," Natasha said.
Clint rolled his eyes. "I know we're going to Florida. I'm not saying you won't need to navigate when we get there."
Natasha smiled. "Fair enough. If you want to, that's fine. I'm grabbing a soda; you want anything?"
Clint waved her off with a shrug, and she headed inside. Despite his indifference, she grabbed him a drink as well, along with one of his favourite candy bars - the kind she usually nagged him about eating.
He gave her a suspicious look when she handed it to him. "You don't need to baby me, Nat."
"Fine," Natasha said. "I'll eat it."
"I didn't say I didn't want it," Clint said hastily. "Just … You don't need to tiptoe around me."
Natasha sighed. "I'm not. Can I not do something nice?"
Clint pulled back onto the freeway and didn't answer.
Natasha bit back another sigh and closed her eyes. He wasn't going to let himself sleep in the car, so she should probably grab a nap now so she could take over driving overnight.
She didn't really want to stop off at a motel.
"I didn't mean to keep it from you," Clint said after a while. "Kate and Lucky, I mean. It just kind of … happened. When I realised that I hadn't exactly told you in as many words … I guess I just didn't want to jinx it. Feels almost normal when I'm home."
Natasha nodded sharply, somewhat surprised by the sharp pang of … something in her chest. "I didn't realise normal was what you were looking for."
"It's not really," Clint admitted. "I didn't think I was capable of it. Still don't. That's my point; I'm waiting for the day I screw up with her."
"And if you talk about her, it's more likely to happen," Natasha finished.
Clint grinned, although it didn't quite reach his eyes. "See? You get me."
Natasha rested her head against the car window, the vibrations of the engine rattling through her, and tried to ignore the way the old scar on her abdomen seemed to throb in time with it. "I didn't think you wanted kids."
"I don't not want kids," Clint said. "I just don't trust myself with them. Kate's already past the formative years; I can't screw her up too badly."
Natasha didn't agree with his self-assessment, but she didn't argue; this was not the time or place for that discussion.
"She's lucky to have you," she said instead, echoing something she'd thought (if not said) years ago when she had first met Kate. "So am I."
Clint didn't answer, and Natasha closed her eyes again, letting the hum of the engine and his steady presence beside her lull her to sleep.
May 2012, Brooklyn
Peggy and Steve had reminisced for what felt like (and probably was) hours, until the natural light shining through the window began to fade.
Peggy glanced at her watch. "Will you be alright for a few minutes? I'm going to go and order some food."
"Are you sure?" Steve asked, a little dubiously. "I mean, if your metabolism is anything like mine …"
"It is," Peggy said with a smile. "And that's why I'm ordering. If I'm going to cook for an army, I need to start earlier in the day. I'll order pizza." She got to her feet. "Deep dish okay?"
She managed to keep a straight face, even when Steve looked up at her with an expression of great offence. "That's … not pizza."
Peggy finally cracked a smile. "Relax, I was kidding. I'll get your traditional New York thin crust instead. Any topping preference?"
"I hear they do a lot more now," Steve said. "So could you pick?"
Peggy nodded. "Yeah, of course. I'll go and dig out the menu."
She flicked on the attic light as she left, jogging down to the kitchen and rooting through the bottom drawer for the pizza menu.
It was an old menu and it was going to be a large order, so she forewent the website in favour of calling them.
"Marco's Pizzeria, can I take your order?"
"Yes, hello," Peggy said. "Can I order one large pizza in every topping?"
There was a pause, then …
"Is that one pizza with everything, or separate pizzas with each topping?"
"Latter," Peggy said with a grin. "How many would that make?"
"Just regular menu combinations?" There was another pause while the server counted up. "Eighteen, ma'am."
"In that case," Peggy said, "can I also order one of every side … do you still do those spicy chicken bites?"
"Yes, ma'am, we do."
"Two of them, please."
"Is this a prank call?"
Peggy chuckled. "No, I'm just feeding a lot of people."
It wasn't technically a lie - she and Steve, between them, had the metabolism of at least eight regular adults. Combine that with the emotional upheaval and adrenaline of the last few days, and the relatively small amount of food they had eaten in the meantime, and she needed to cater for about twenty.
She gave her address and hung up, checking her purse to make sure she had enough to pay for the pizza and give a decent tip.
Her old record player caught her eye as she passed by the living room on her way back upstairs, and she doubled back to poke at it dubiously.
She hadn't used it in years, not since Tony had helped her digitise all her old records. She had a playlist of them on her StarkPod (because Tony Stark's godmother could not get away with Apple products, even if SI hadn't quite begun to compete with Apple commercially yet).
But they didn't sound the same as the originals.
The record player was dusty and a little scratched, and she wiped it off as best she could, before setting one of the records that had somehow survived from the 1940s.
It stuttered a little, but miraculously began to play, soft familiar music floating through the room.
Peggy smiled and headed back upstairs to collect Steve. On a whim, she ducked into her bedroom and rifled through her closet. She couldn't remember what had happened to it, but she was sure …
Aha!
With a triumphant grin, she pulled a red dress from the back of her closet.
The doorbell rang just as she was fluffing her hair around her shoulders.
"Steve! Dinner's here!"
Peggy hurried downstairs and opened the door to a pile of pizza boxes. "Good evening."
"Evening," a muffled male voice said from behind the boxes. "Who ordered the entire menu?"
Peggy laughed, effortlessly taking the boxes and setting them to one side. "Thanks, how much do I owe you?"
The delivery boy - barely nineteen, she could see now - gave her a figure utterly disproportionate to the number of people eating.
Peggy counted out the payment, added a number of bills on top of it, and handed it all over. "Keep the change."
He grinned at her. "Thank you, ma'am. Have a good party."
"We will, thanks." Peggy shut the door and carried the pizzas through to the living room, setting them on her old sideboard and opening the boxes.
The scent of eighteen different pizzas wafted over her and her stomach growled loudly.
"How many did you order?" Steve asked from the doorway.
"One of everything," Peggy answered, pulling a slice free and pausing momentarily to fight with the cheese. "Pizza hasn't really changed since the 40s but the variety has. Also we have one of every side as well, so help yourself."
She didn't hear him move so turned to look at him. He was watching her with a strange expression on his face. "Uh oh," she murmured, setting her pizza to one side. "Was the dress a bad idea?"
"No!" Steve said hastily. "God, no, Peggy, you look amazing, just … Is that the same dress?"
Peggy smiled, spinning around so the skirt flared around her thighs. "Yes, it is. I was going to wear it when we went dancing and … Well, here we are."
"Here we are," Steve agreed quietly.
"You are far too maudlin for a man surrounded by pizza," Peggy said. "Come and eat."
By the time they had both conceded defeat, there were still several pizzas left.
"I think you over-ordered," Steve said.
Peggy grinned. "No, I knew what I was doing. The only thing better than pizza is leftover pizza for lunch the next day."
Steve laughed, helping her gather up the boxes. "Excellent plan, Agent Carter."
"I am rather known for those," Peggy said, setting the leftover pizza in the refrigerator. "And speaking of excellent plans," she added, pushing the door shut, "you owe me a dance, Captain."
Steve gamely followed her back into the living room, where she dimmed the lights and turned the music up a little. She turned around just in time to see his face light up. "I know this song."
Peggy smiled, holding her hands out to him. "You're lucky I could find it - most of my old records are on my StarkPod. This sounds better."
"It really does," Steve agreed, taking her hands.
His own were trembling and she stepped into his space, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "Relax," she murmured. "Put your hand on my waist."
As she talked him through the steps of a dance that she herself had not danced in years, he slowly relaxed. He learned quickly, as she knew he would, and soon she was spinning around a makeshift dance-floor, both of them relishing in the second chance they very nearly never got to see.
Even super-soldiers tire; physical and mental exhaustion slowly caught up with them and Peggy spun back into his arms to be held tightly in a gentle approximation of a waltz.
"And you didn't step on my toes," she said softly.
Steve chuckled, the sound reverberating through her. "You're a very good teacher."
Peggy tilted her head back to look up at him. Without her heels on - even the low heels in her boots - the height difference was even greater. "And you are an excellent student. However, I think saving the world gives us an excuse to save dancing the whole night away for another night."
Steve heaved an overdramatic sigh. "I suppose that would be for the best."
Peggy laughed and slipped out of his arms to turn the record player off. "Come on. Hopefully, tomorrow will be quiet and we can spend the whole day recovering."
Even as she said it, she should have known that she was practically inviting Tony to call her at five o'clock the next morning.