MOTHERS DON'T HAVE TO BE THE WOMAN THAT GAVE BIRTH
FATHERS DON'T HAVE TO BE OF THE SAME BLOOD
SOMETIMES THE BEST FAMILIES ARE THE ONES WE GET TO PICK AND CHOOSE
Family is not a conceptual idea for Elizabeth Stark.
She may have lost hers years ago, but she's familiar with family; her job requires her to interact with several families on a daily basis.
She's just not used to seeing a family so happy, so whole, so effortless.
Clint's family is what she had used to wish that hers would be like. Clint's family is what ten-year-old her had imagined about; a life without lightning bolts, weapon industries, fathers obsessing over Captain America, brothers who fought with fathers, mothers who were too complacent. It's only years later, years too late that she realizes that her family wasn't perfect; no ones' ever was, but the Starks loved with everything they had and Howard and Maria Stark had tried their very best until their dying breaths.
Her family stopped being a tragedy that day and became a series of wasted moments, lost opportunities.
There's a tug in her heart when she spots a little boy and a little girl running towards their father, in a manner that Liz had used to do when her own had returned from an expedition. There's a weight in her chest when she spots the very heavily pregnant woman emerging out of what she assumes is the kitchen carrying a child in her womb that reminds her of the Jarvises, the dreams they had and weren't able to fulfil. There's a pull behind her ribcage when she looks at the happy family embraced into each other reminding her that she, like several others in the room, has lost everything that could even resemble this.
Then she feels Tony's hand grip hers in a tight embrace and she remembers that she hasn't lost everything. Remembers that Tony is enough of a family for her.
Clint only has three bathrooms in his comfortable farmhouse, one of which belongs to the children and therefore off-limits. There are seven of them, all equally dirty and grimy from the fight but Laura, kind, compassionate Laura who smiles at them as if they've known each other their entire lives, offers her and Natasha, who probably look the worse, the bathrooms first.
Liz takes the guest bathroom and Natasha, who Liz thinks deserves to have a family like the Bartons, takes Clint and Laura's bathroom.
Laura sends her daughter Lila with clothes that Liz can change into, a mustard sweater with black jeans and Liz smiles at the little girl who in a way, does look like Clint.
"Thanks. Your name is Lila, right?"
The young girl nods and Liz waits, sensing her apprehension to ask questions. Soon enough, the second-eldest child of the Bartons asks,
"Can you create lightning?"
Cooper, unlike his sister, bursts into the room, obviously listening in on the conversation, "That's Thor, Lila. Infinity can make fireballs."
She's amused and aching and she smiles at the two children in front of her, "How about this; I change out of this suit and look less yucky and then you two can ask me anything you want."
Lila simply nods while Cooper tilts his head in confusion, "You don't look yucky."
"Maybe not. But I feel yucky."
The response seems to satisfy the older Barton as he makes himself comfortable on the guest room bed, "Ok. I'll just wait for you here."
She locks the door shut and stares into the mirror, taking in her war-torn appearance and feeling the repercussions of the past hour finally start to hit her as she's finally alone for the first time since they got ready to find Klaue.
Instinctively, her hand goes up to her throat, unsurprised at the lack of bruises; she was choked by a telekinetic. She prefers to have the bruise; she prefers physical reminders to reassure herself that she's not going crazy, that she didn't imagine the oxygen leaving her lungs and her body protesting at the effort it took to keep her alive.
She knows she shouldn't take too long in the shower, so she cranks it down to the coldest it can possibly get and by the time she's done, she's wide-awake, shivering cold and numb enough to dull her pain. She dresses quickly in the clothes she was given, leaving her drenched hair down, the strands curling along her back, some nearly blending in with her sweater.
She opens the door to find Lila and Cooper still on the bed, the former waiting patiently and latter fiddling with the lamp on the nightstand.
"I'm done," she cups her mouth and calls out to whoever is going to use the bathroom next and jumps on the bed, in between both Barton siblings and asks, "What do we want to know?"
Cooper is unapologetic in his extreme enthusiasm, "Can you make fire balls?"
She makes a tiny one, letting it rest in her palm and willing it not to move when Cooper peers down to get a better look. Before he does something like stick his hand in it or brings his face too close, she shuts her palm and watches as the flame goes out.
Its Lila that voices her fascination, her eyes never leaving Liz's palm even as the flame goes out, "Cool."
Cooper is relentless in his questions. He asks about her suit, her powers, the alien invasion and Iron Man. Lila interrupts occasionally to ask her own questions, sometimes about Stark Med, other times about her lightning. While Cooper is fascinated by Iron Man, Lila seems to like Thor much better. However, they both agree that their father's the best kind of hero there is.
Tony, Steve and Clint find the trio ducked behind the bed, snowballs in each of Lila and Cooper's hand before they hurl the packed ice crystals at Liz, complaining in laughter when they disappear back into Liz's hand before it can hit her, accusing her of cheating even though they have wide smiles and excited looks.
"Do it again," Cooper screams at the top of his lungs causing Clint to flinch.
The father clears his throat and tries not to laugh when all of them, Liz included, look at him as if they were caught sneaking out of the house. Liz, unable to determine if they're in trouble, lifts her arms up in the air and sneaks a glance at Cooper who just smiles joyously.
"Dad we're having a snowball fight. Liz can make snow. She should come for Christmas."
Tony decides to add his two cents, "Ya, that may not be a good idea. When she was eight, she accidentally created an ice storm because we were in Florida and she wanted snow."
The kids' eyes widen, not in fear but in excitement and Tony realizes that he's forgotten how it felt to be a child, uncaring and utterly ensnared by everything.
"All right you two, lets help mom with dinner."
Liz perks up at the thought of doing something besides tormenting herself over nearly hurting her friends with the kind of trick she wasn't supposed to be able to pull. She invigorates at the idea that she no longer has to obsessively ponder over whether if it was Wanda Maximoff that created the burst of red that she very hazily remembers or if it was her, or if it was something else.
"I'll help mom with dinner." She backtracks when she realizes she got caught up in her excitement, "I mean, your mom, Laura. I'll also help with dinner. Not cook because we need to stay alive to save the world but I can set the table."
Clint raises an eyebrow, "Has Elizabeth Stark ever set a dinner table before?"
She scoffs at his incredulity, "No, but that's beside the point."
She mock glares in betrayal when she is met with three disbelieving faces, and defends herself, "Are you serious? I've done over a hundred brain surgeries; I can handle putting plates on a table."
She runs out with Liz and Cooper in a manner so childish and so characteristically Elizabeth Stark prior to robots and aliens and suits of armour and repressors that it reminds Tony Stark that his sister was forced to grow up too fast. Acquiring her powers came with the price of being stripped away from a childhood, of the normalcy of going to school and making friends and going to birthday parties.
If Elizabeth were to hear his concerns and regrets, she would have reminded Tony that he was the boy that took her to zoos and to parks. He was the boy who played pretend with her, and created holographic birthday parties. He was the boy who relentlessly ensured that her childhood was fractionally better than his own.
If Elizabeth Stark were there to hear Tony's concerns, she would have pulled him in a hug and expressed her thanks.
Instead, she had run off to set the dinner table while Cooper and Lila clean up their toys.
Dinner goes by relatively smoothly. There's an imperceptible layer of fear hanging above the Avengers' heads, but they, in an attempt to shield Laura and the kids from their torment, distract themselves and each other with chaotic stories of their battles, removing gory details for the sake of the two children that listen with rapid attention. Liz finds herself staring out the door, half hoping that Thor will barrel in, but he doesn't and eventually, she gives up hoping.
Tony and Bruce help out with the clean up while Natasha babysits the kids in order to give Clint some much needed time with his wife. Appreciative, the archer assigns them all to a bed before retreating to his room with Laura.
Steve feels out of place, not knowing what to do where and so he makes his way out of the house, grabbing onto the ledge of the roof in an easy jump before hoisting himself up, staring at the stars that are no longer concealed among the artificial lights of the city.
He turns around when he hears the opening of a window and turns in time to see Elizabeth Stark gracelessly fall into the roof from the window, shaking her head to right herself before freezing when she sees the Captain.
"Oh, sorry. I didn't know you were here. I can leave if you..."
"No," Steve interrupts her before she can get the chance to run away again, "Stay."
She carefully makes her way to the edge of the roof, right alongside him and crosses her legs, her knees touching his thigh and Steve doesn't really care for politeness or courtesy to look away from Elizabeth Stark when her hair is haloed by the moon, and her eyes are squinting in the darkness, starts bouncing off her irises.
The metaphorical line that she had carved between them lies proudly and strongly enough for him to feel it; the distance.
He wants to say that he remembers just then but the truth is that he's never forgotten. Didn't forget the way she ran out of his room, didn't forget admitting to wanting to stay away from him, hasn't forgotten her 'heart will break' if she doesn't. He wants to pretend that he hadn't had this conversation in his head several times over, wants to pretend that he's been simultaneously itching and dreading to start this conversation, open this particular assortment of problems.
He does because he wants that metaphorical barrier to go; erased with no chances of it appearing again in the future.
"The picture of Peggy kept me going during the war." His voice doesn't need to be any louder than the calling of the crickets.
He looks at her and wonders if she's aware that she's uncrossed her legs, bending them so that her knees touch her chin, prepared to bolt at any moment. He doesn't realize that his pinkie touches hers, ready to grab onto her if she does.
"When I woke up, the compass was the only thing I had left. It kept me tied to my life when I felt like I woke up to someone else's."
She nods, seemingly understanding, "Must have been hard. Losing seventy years."
He shakes his head in frustration, unable to figure out if she genuinely doesn't understand or if she's deflecting, "I love Peggy Carter, always will. But I kept her picture on the compass because I wasn't ready to leave 1945."
When she nods empathetically, with compassion, he knows she thinks that this is an aftermath of the vision he was shown; this is him dealing with his trauma. Only he knows that what he saw; dancing with Peggy, being back to what he had for a long time considered home, gave him the kind of closure he didn't know he needed.
He should have relished the few seconds he had experienced, should have been desperate to stay in 1945 and have that dance. He wasn't expecting to be desperate to return back home, wasn't expecting to receive a sudden wave of euphoria that he no longer considered the jazz music and wooden tables and pointless wars home anymore. He didn't expect to be hit with the knowledge that he now considers talking towers and movie nights with people that might as well come from comic books and blue eyes and a spectrum of brown hair home.
He turns around, looking straight at her, willing for his words to resonate beyond her doubts and fears, "I will always love Peggy Carter, Liz, but I'm not in love with her. Not anymore. I don't need her picture on the locket because I'd rather stay here than go back."
Only one of them realizes that 'here' meant less of 2015 and more of with Elizabeth Stark.
She's scared. She is downright terrified. She's bargaining with her heart and she knows, she knows that it's broken and cracked after being shattered by the very people who were supposed to protect it. She knows that the amount of times she has left to sweep up her pieces and glue them back together is limited; sparse.
It's this fear that stops her from meeting him halfway, stops her from bridging this distance, "What are we doing?" She breathes out.
Elizabeth Stark had always inevitably worn her heart on her sleeve. She's always pasted her emotions on her face. Her fear and hesitation and hope is evident to Steve Rogers and it allows him to take one, just a single step closer.
"Well I'm pretty, "He remembers Liz's fondness for accuracy and numbers, "98 percent sure that I have feelings for this girl but only 57 percent sure they're returned. As you can see, I'm kind of in a situation here."
He doesn't know how well that went, doesn't know how well it'll end up, but Liz looks like she's about to burst into laughter and the darkness and fear are no longer present in her eyes and so he counts it as a win.
Until Tony interrupts.
"Hey Captain, we have a visitor. Get your ass down here."
Liz freezes in place, her legs obscured from view, both her and Steve waiting for Tony to leave so that they can jump down.
Only, Tony calls out as he re-enters the house, "Make sure you don't drop my sister."
Liz simply pouts in childlike disappointment when she realizes that she hasn't hidden as artfully as she had thought. She hears Steve jump to the ground with the aid of his supersoldier strength and she looks at his outstretched hands only for a second before she falls.
She's fallen ages ago.
The house that was once quiet with the sounds of its inhabitants getting ready to settle for the night is now a calm sort of chaos, all the Avengers circled around Nick Fury.
"Nick," Liz wraps her arms around his neck to hug the man she hasn't seen in so long, his dead status forcing him to keep such low profiles that disallowed him to see either Stark.
He grumbles under the speed at which Liz ran to him, but expresses his happiness, "Knew there was something that sucked about being dead."
They only have a moment to smile, a moment to laugh, a moment to let go of the weight that the world has put on their shoulders before asking permission first.
But if that moment does anything, it strengthens the notion in Elizabeth Stark that family is not a conceptual concept.
She may no longer have a mother or a father. She may not have had the opportunity to see her parents clap for her when she opened her hospital or know if they're proud of the work she's doing as Infinity.
But family isn't set in blood. She knows this better than anyone does. She knows, on some cellular level that this group of misfit heroes that have more baggage than anyone can possibly imagine, can do the impossible, have slowly started to become her family.
This family is enough. It's more than enough.