~ Funny how the heart can be deceiving, More than just a couple times, Why do we fall in love so easy, Even when it's not right? ~ (Try by P!nk)
~
She was scraping the black bits off her toast, while Steve poured milk on his cereal and the tablecloth. "About last night," he rubbed his hands down his tired face, "I could have handled it better. I shouldn't have walked out like that."
"That's true." Bleary eyed, she smeared butter past the crust and onto her hand, "I was thinking, you should keep a list."
"Of all the times I mess up? No need, Tony's keeping one."
"No. A list of new things you want to try. You said people are always telling you what to do."
"Oh, I get you," he pondered what should be first on the list. Things I want to do… 1. You.
She took a giant bite of peanut butter off her knife before it even made it to the bread, "Wai', la't nigh' 'id 'ou 'ay 'un shot 't you?"
"One, don't talk through peanut butter. Two, you're gonna have to be more specific."
She swallowed the gooey mess in her mouth, and chased it with sweet tea, "A woman, a secretary at the SSR."
"Oh, that," he sensed he was about to regret mentioning it.
She pointed her knife at him, "Was she a double agent?"
"Lorraine, no," he pinned the knife to the table with his finger.
"So she really was just jealous because Peggy kissed you?"
"It was Peggy who shot at me," he said from behind his cup and took a deliberately long sip.
Her face fell, and she leaned forward against the table, "Peggy shot at you?"
"Close your mouth before flies get in," a band of pressure was building around his forehead.
"I don't understand. Were you engaged by then?"
"Hadn't even been on a date."
Her eyebrows shot up, "Oh, you were serious when you said you missed your date." She sat back, "Wow. That's extreme… and possessive… and controlling..."
He tried to keep his voice even, "You dont know her, you shouldn't judge."
She reached over and placed her hand on his forearm, stroking it as if he was a dog with an injured paw, "I'm sorry, Steve, but that's not normal behaviour."
He withdrew from her reach, "Things were different back then. We didn't act how people do now. We didn't go to shrinks or know psychology… parents belted their kids, kids hit each other, youths got into fights, men beat each other up for sport. It was normal."
"So was judging people based on their ethnicity and skin colour, and starting wars over it. No, I don't buy historical or cultural context as an excuse for hurting people. Especially the ones you claim to care about."
Steve dropped his hand heavily onto the table, everything rattled, she flinched and Sasha popped his head out between the chair legs.
"That's not a fair comparison. You weren't there. You'll never know what it was like, what we all went through…"
Sasha scurried out from under the table, started yelling and dragged her by the hand to the front door. Steve could hear a rumbling engine and tires slowly crunching gravel. He went to look through the doorway, and saw an old Dodge pick-up idling out front. Carly and Luke were standing in the yard watching. They weren't approaching it. Steve gently pushed past her and the baby, and went down the porch steps. The truck's engine cut out. The driver's door creaked and groaned as it swung open. Clint stepped out wearing a pair of wrap around sunglasses.
Steve relaxed his shoulders and strode over to Clint, "Thanks for coming. It's good to see you." He introduced them.
Clint went over and shook Luke's hand then waved to Carly, "Clint Barton, nice to meet you," he said with a quick nod. He was met with a silence Steve knew was uncharacteristic for those two. Clint took off his glasses, pointing them at the landscape, "Beautiful property you got here."
"Thanks," Luke was tightly gripping the handle of the shovel in his hand. Carly darted into the house.
Clint's arrival had been set in motion the night before. Steve had pulled the Harley over, sat on the frozen roots of a bare old oak tree and called Nat. He had to catch his breath to speak, "I think I'm having an anxiety attack, PTSD maybe… it's bad."
"What happened?" Natasha's low, concerned tone was soothing.
"I can't do this. She's asking more than I can give."
"I can't come, something's up with Tony. Where are you? I'll call Clint."
His shaky hands somehow managed to work the device, "Sending the coordinates."
"Got them. You left Dodge, huh? Doubt Clint will make it out there tonight. Keep talking to me."
Now, as Steve stood outside the farmhouse, boots soaking in wet snow, Clint looked him over, "So how you holdin' up, man?"
"Better," it wasn't saying much but it was true. "I've got some ideas I wanna run by you and Nat. Let's go inside."
~
She gestured Steve over to the far side of the living room by the window, then let loose, "How could you invite someone here without asking me?" In the cold white glare from the window her irises were dilated, honey coloured and ringed with grey, like a pissed off mother tigress. "I trusted you."
He kept his voice down, "You can trust Clint and Natasha."
"And Natasha!"
"They're my team. I trust them with my life."
"You don't get to trust them with my son's," her canine teeth flashed.
"I would never put Sasha at risk. I know you're scared, but it's time to face it, for your son's sake, I need a plan of action for taking Xane down."
She crossed her arms, "You can't."
"I can't stand by and do nothing."
"It's not about you. You can't just take over because you have the power to."
"That's not what I'm trying to do."
"You want to fix everything but it's not that simple. You can go and beat up a whole bunch of assholes and it won't fix them and it won't fix me."
He stopped in his tracks. "Fix you?"
She waved it off with her hand and turned away from him. He'd always thought of himself as a patient man, cool headed in conflict situations, but that flick of her wrist made his blood rise.
"Yes, I want to fix your situation, of course I do. And I'm not just gonna go out there to beat people up. I'm actually capable of operating with some intelligence. Besides, what other choice is there really?"
"Just don't. It's that simple. You simply leave it alone."
"I can't just live here forever playing house-husband. There are other people out there who are gonna need my help!"
She turned on him, "So suddenly the world needs you! What about all that time when you whiled away hiding from everyone in that rust-bucket trailer."
He felt a pang of guilt over that, even though he had reminded himself many times that the others remained on duty to the world. "I always knew it was only a matter of time until I got called out again."
She shook her head and set her shoulders.
"Dammit, why won't you listen to me?" he moved to pull her closer, force her to hear him.
She flinched and froze. He stepped back, his mouth went dry, "I'm not going to hurt you. I would never hurt you."
After a beat, she spoke matter-of-factly, "You're right."
"I-" he faltered.
"I don't need another husband. You should go. Leave."
She couldn't mean it. There was no way he was going to do that, "No. I'm not leaving. But you and your baby are under threat. I need to go on the offensive."
"No! I need–" she paused and lowered her voice, "I would feel much safer with you near us."
"But you will actually be safe if I take care of the threat permanently." There was an icy resolve in him. He was not going to give in. "I'm not going to hide out in the middle of nowhere because of your husband, ex-husband, and some low life thugs out there…" he pointed out the window but his finger touched the pane, sending cracks across the glass. She gasped when he grabbed her by the shoulders and yanked her away just as the window shattered down on itself. Shards rained across the floor all around their feet.
Hawkeye skidded into the room, eyes darting around, followed closely by Luke wielding a baseball bat.
"Sorry. It was an accident. Are you alright? May I?" he put an arm around her back when she nodded. She wrapped her arm around his neck as he picked her up.
As Steve carried her away from the glass shards, he remembered his thoughts on the night they met, about carrying her to bed, thoughts he had dismissed instantly. This time he was worked up for a fight, he had a body full of adrenaline and an imagination fuelled by knowledge of her. He knew the feel of her skin, the sensation of her soft hair when it brushed across his face, the weight of her body against his in bed… countless deadly little details.
Her face was turned to him and it felt like she was breathing him in. If he turned his face to meet hers, that's all it would take… Their lips would touch and it would ignite a firestorm through his entire being. He would carry her up those stairs, then and there, to that cosy little bed.
The seconds that it took to cross the room felt like so much more.
Instead of climbing the stairs he lowered her feet onto the second step. When he straightened up, for the first time her eyes were level with his. Her hand still rested high on his shoulder as though it belonged there. He was holding onto her waist too tightly with both hands, at the precipice, falling into the warmth of her wide dark eyes.
A knowing smile touched her lips and she lifted her other hand to meet its counterpart, softly stroking the nape of his neck. The sensation of her touch sent a thrill across his skin so strong even his fingers tingled as they traced circles over her sides. She shivered under his touch. She was looking at his mouth now like she just might take a bite, and all he wanted was to be kissing her.
But the moment was passing. He didn't close the distance to her, and she didn't close the distance to him. Her hands slipped down from his neck, pressed briefly against his chest and then her touch faded away.
His hands dropped to his sides. "Because you asked me to, I will stay with you. I will respect your choice until we agree how I can fix this."
"Thank you," she said and stroked his lightly stubbled cheek with her hand. His heart swelled at the unexpected return of her touch, the sweetness of the gesture and the way she was gazing at him with so much affection in her smile. "I really want you–" her words sent a bolt of electricity through him. She glanced over to the others who were starting to clean up the glass, "– to let me help them," she finished.
He closed his eyes and sighed, unable to mask his frustration. I really want you too.
~
With the atmosphere in the house less than welcoming despite their hero identities being revealed, Steve suggested sitting out the back.
Clint rocked the porch swing, with a coke bottle between his thighs, "I don't think your main problem right now is her ex…"
Steve braced his arms on the balustrade, "I'm pretty sure the guy trying to kill her is the problem."
"Yeah, but that's not what you two are really fighting about."
"Oh OK, Dr. Clinton Freud, what's the real issue here?"
"You've heard of the 'Flight or Fight' response right? Well there are two more Fs they don't tell you about. Fawn and Fu-."
"Really, you think if we just…" Steve rolled his eyes, "...did that, it would solve all our problems."
"I mean, it's worth a shot? Like, why not?"
"She's married."
"Yeah, come on, man, that's not it," Clint laughed.
He sighed, "It's Peggy, alright?"
"Peggy…" the swing squeaked to a stop, "Carter? Founder of SHIELD?"
"Yes. I can't get over her. I know it's pathetic. She's lived her whole life and I'm still waiting for that first date that never happened," he scraped at the cracked, peeling layers of lead paint on the railing with his thumbnail.
"Geez. No, it makes sense," Clint scratched the close-cropped hair behind his ear. "A shared trauma can bond two people forever. Especially war and death. Causing or witnessing a death. Imagine the strength of the experience, and the bond, when that death is your own."
"But I didn't die."
"In all the ways that matter you did. Going down, you thought you were going to. You literally froze. You died in every way except permanently."
He caught the bottle Clint flung at him, "So I'm bound to Peggy forever and I'll never get over her." Might have been better if I'd died.
"Possibly, but it doesn't have to end that way. You don't have to join a monastery. It's possible to love more than one woman. Sometimes the one you meet first isn't the one you're meant to be with. There's different kinds of love. Neither one has to be diminished by the other."
"I didn't know you were a philosopher."
"Nah, I'm just a dude in tights."