"When you were kids, you all admired the champion marble shooter, the fastest runner,
the big league ball players, the toughest boxers, Americans love a winner...."
-General Patton (Patton, 1970)
"A safe house?"
Steve can't tear his eyes away from the toys littering the carpeted wood, can't wrap his head around the little children that had darted past their knees and into the arms of Clint Barton: their comrade, the children's father. Clint is a father. Steve blinks, wishing someone would elbow, pinch, or pour cold water over him. This - he did not expect this.
"This is an agent of some kind," Tony continues to talk for the rest of them, but he senses Thor's attention is the one really grasping at his words.
"Gentlemen," Clint properly ignores Tony as he cradles one kid into his arms. "This is Laura." A wife. Clint's wife. Steve blankly watches the woman wave at them, hair parted in the middle and kept back with a periwinkle hairband.
"I know all your names," the comely woman says right after Clint. Steve tries not to stare at her, at Barton's wife.
"Those are...smaller agents," the lines on Tony's forehead crease together, eyeing the children running around the room. Barton sets one down, a girl that stands just a little above his hip height, and she darts forward to replace the one that had been in Natasha's arms. Shaking his head, Steve steps up, slightly setting himself apart from Tony's rambling disbelief and apologizes for barging in on the woman, on Barton's wife, and his family.
"Yeah, we would have called ahead of time, if you know -" Tony adds, nodding towards the running children. "If we knew you existed."
Barton shrugs. "Yeah, well Fury helped me set this up when I joined. He kept it off SHEILD's files," he explained. "I'd like to keep it that way. I figure it's a good place to lay low." He ends the topic. Steve shoots Tony a look, but fortunately, the scientist has the sense to lay off the subject and merely disregards what Tony has termed, his 'mother hen' look.
Movement to the left alerts him that their resident god is more disgruntled than he has previously let on. While Thor never had issues sharing his emotions with the others, he had been uncharacteristically silent on the jet ride to Clint's home, but Steve had not attributed the absence of jeers and laughter to subdued malcontent. Ignoring Natasha's argument with Clint's expectant...wife, he almost runs after the god as an excuse. Thor is an excuse.
"I saw something in that dream," the tall blond suddenly says, noticing Steve on his trail. "I need answers and I won't find them here."
Steve steps up, a futile attempt to stop Thor from going, but the man is already swinging his hammer and gone in the air before he can do more than close his half-opened mouth and be assaulted by memories of Peggy's false voice. He falters on the steps and turns away from the entrance of Clint's homestead. Home, she had said. The clangor of grown men tripping over scattered toys and raucous laughter deter him from moving beyond the word and rejoining his team.
"Steve?" He hears Peggy but feels himself refocusing on eyes much too dark and unfamiliar than hers. Diana has a hand on his bicep, a gentle pressure barely tethering him to the present. He would follow Thor if he could, but following Maximoff's visions would require him going backward, to the past. No matter how far into the future he is now, he doesn't think men like Stark are close to producing time machines. At least, not yet. And he doesn't think he wants to know what choice he would make even then if such an invention were to ever be made.
"I'm - uh, fine," he clears his throat. He knows neither of them believe his words, but Diana lets go of his arm anyway. He doesn't see any wind pass through, but he feels colder now - both Peggy's words and Diana's concern a faded ember against the dimming horizon. "Let's go back before Tony gets us kicked out," he says, forcing both of them out of their isolation. Letting her through the door first, Steve doesn't miss the silver of the smile sliding across her features as she passes by, and can't refrain himself from mirroring it. But before he steps inside, back into the laughter and warmth, he takes one last look back at the woods fortifying Barton's ranch and keeping the madness at bay.
We can go home now.
Steve can't. Time and circumstance had stolen that home from him. But this? His team? He watches Tony whine on the floor, one of Barton's kids laughing at his predicament as the Iron Man cradles his foot - a crushed lego thrown haphazardly to the side the only indication of the event that had just transpired. Natasha spots them first, a tired but slow smile showing the progressive recovery she is making. Barton applauds him on his return from a distance, his other child secured in his arms as she steals from the bowl of grapes on an adjacent table.
"We thought you would miss dinner," he says as Steve looks for Bruce. The scientist is nowhere in sight, but a careful listen to the soft creak above him tells him that the man has most likely stolen some quiet in an upstairs bedroom.
"Ah, about that," Natasha catches his attention. "Bruce and I are sharing a room," she explains. "And Tony's rare chivalry has claimed the pullout bed here," she pats the sofa she is currently sitting on.
Steve had a brief survey of the house on their landing. While large enough to fit Clint's family, he can only guess at how limited the rooming of the house would be.
"The kids are sharing a room, and there's really no room in my - Laura's office," Barton continues, only stopping to correct himself at his wife's forced cough. "I haven't had the chance to make a crib just yet, so our nursery has room for our spare mattress…" his voice trails off at the implication.
"If you don't mind that, do you, Captain?" Laura's head pops out from the kitchen, bringing an aroma of sizzling onions and garlic to his attention.
"No, ah - just Steve, ma'am," he answers. He has slept in worse conditions. The floor, or maybe a chair in the room would provide him more comfort than a mound of dirt in enemy territory.
Laura's returning smile is warm and open and induces an ache in his chest which Steve refuses to linger on. "Just Laura then, Steve. I'll have Clint move the things and bring the sheets over later on tonight. Unfortunately, you and Diana will have to share the outside bathroom with the kids - so kids -" groans cut her off, but Clint is an expert and maneuvers his daughter onto his shoulders as he swoops into the living room to give chase to his son. Through the laughter, he asks Laura if she needs help, but the woman is stern and shuts down all offered assistance from him and Diana.
"Quite a woman, isn't she?" Natasha speaks up as the sound of laughter and thundering footsteps fades into the second floor. Steve hears Bruce's startled shout, but otherwise, has no inkling of the chaos Barton is coraling into the bathroom.
"I'd probably say the same thing, y'know, if I'd known of her existence for more than a second," Tony grumbles, slouching against the wall. To his side, Diana kneels down, fingers fiddling with one of the toys left behind.
"I think it's nice," she says quietly. "All of this - it's nice. He has somewhere to go back to. A family." She rises once again and makes a break for the kitchen. He, Tony, and Natasha all pause at Laura's wardings, but ultimately, are surprised to see her allow Diana entry into her kitchen.
"Family," Natasha echoes, but anything she wants to afterward is shut down by her standing up and sauntering towards the stairs. "I'm going to see how Bruce is doing. Behave, please," she says before disappearing.
"Behave," Steve watches Tony mockingly mimic, before going off on a short tangent about cucumbers and other things. Steve blocks most of it out, knowing better than to let his head be filled with Stark's crude commentary. After a while, the scientist pushes himself off the wall and procures the phone in his pocket. "I'm going to make some calls outside, business and all - go ahead and start dinner without me," he advises him before walking away.
"He...y," Laura soon joins him, not leaving Steve more than a few minutes to loiter in his thoughts. "Diana's just finishing up, do you mind helping her set up the table? Clint's been gone for too long and I need to make sure the kids haven't locked him up somewhere," she says.
Steve nods his head. "Of course."
Home.
If only they could all be so lucky.
Quietly intruding on Diana shutting down the stove, he lets her instruct him on the locations of the silverware and plates as she bustles around the fire, finishing up the meals with last minute garnishes. In some part of his mind, Steve finds his motions being led by his memories of open canned soups and meticulously crafted Oslo meals when the pockets were a bit too light and the savings tucked in the cupboard were too tempting. Although, his movements are also reminiscent of other, more recent times: raucous laughter shared with unruly dinnermates, a quiet morning shrouded in an of Mediterranean spices - french breakfast served in a high-class American hotel room.
"That should do it," Diana breaks his reveries. From his periphery, he sees her place the last, missing glass beside a plate on the table. "I'll admit, it's been awhile since I've shared a meal with this many people." She isn't directly speaking to him, or so - Steve doesn't think she is. Taking one step back, he too analyzes the mismatched cutlery and assortment of glass cups and mugs littering the table and adjacent kitchen island. While Clint has a family bigger than two, it seems as if he and Laura had yet to stock their kitchen with matching dinnerware. Not that it took away from the homeliness of the scenario; Steve finds everything - from the misplaced filigree lining Clint's walls to the neon yellow mugs very endearing - .and slightly disorienting. Clint has a home to go back too. He should be happy for his friend...but why did he feel so bothered as well?
"Oh, thank you, you two!" Laura bursts in with two added sets of running feet. She gestures for both Steve and Diana to take a seat just as Clint comes in. Decorum thrumming in his veins, he pulls out a seat for both Diana and Laura as Clint helps his wife settle down their two children into their own respective chairs. "Steve?" the woman asks, and he can only shake his head.
Stepping off to the side, he merely lets Natasha and Bruce come in, ignoring the former's rolling eyes as he solicits the kitchen island setup for himself.
"I'll uh, join you there," Bruce finds him a second later, the man no doubt still put off by the presence of hyperactive children bargaining for larger shares of pasta versus steamed vegetables. Steve gives the man a small grin, the scientist only reciprocating it with less tense shoulders as Laura claps her hands together. This action effectively shuts all deals down and attracts everyone's attention.
"But moooom -" Laura gives one of her kids what Steve could only call "The Look," and silence once again pervades them. Through this, Tony makes his presence known by accidentally knocking his arm into a cup. Bruce's reflexes same everyone from a bated breath as Laura clears her throat and lets the accident go with a smile.
"Let us pray," she begins.
"-you Lord for all the gifts and blessings you have given us today. Thank you for letting Steve recover from his asthma attack this morning and letting -"
"-and eat!"
"You alright there, old man?" Steve shakes his head at Stark's comment as he reaches for his glass. Lifting it off the counter, he only realizes that it is empty when Clint comes over to him and pours some ice cold water into it.
"Thanks." He takes a sip, feels his chest constrict with the sudden onset of chills, and relaxes once again.
When dinner is finished, Laura stamps her foot down in both literal and figurative fashion, as she commandeers her family to handle the aftermath of having the equivalent of a dozen mouths eating at her table. Steve needs three warnings from her before he finally retracts his offer to help clean up.
Diana stares at him bemusedly as she awaits for him at the foot of the stairs. Steve has always found her way of smiling peculiar; not quite full-blown enough to crease the very fine lines at her eyes, yet enough to cause a lilt in her upper lip - Steve shrugs off her cajoles and follows her up the stairs.
He is only affronted when he sees the set-up that the Bartons had devised for him and Diana. There is absolutely no space for him on the floor nor is there a chair in some corner to carry his weight for the night.
"I don't bite, Captain," Steve quietly groans at the laughter in Diana's tone as she saunters past him and picks up the clothes that Laura had left behind for her; Steve's own set seems suspiciously too small for his frame by the way it was laid out on the bed - but he can only really be grateful for Clint's hospitality at this point. Bed situation a moot deal he would have to contend with on another day.
Staring out at the only window in the room, both mindful and woefully sensitive to the movements of his roommate, he can't help but to feel the day's noise and trouble drown in the darkness surrounding the ranch; the trees are a barrier against the loudspeakers of the world.
All too suddenly, his hazy thoughts are dispelled by a gentle hand resting on his bicep. Uncrossing his arms, he almost automatically looks down to address his companion, before he is reminded by both scent and memory that it can only be Diana and finds her leveled gaze softly inquiring with a question he has no plan to answer. "Tony is still out and the shower is open," she merely says instead and Steve nods. Grabbing his own set of clothes off the bed, he momentarily takes the time to glance back at the woman. She is turned away from him, ruffling a dampened towel through her dark hair.
We can go home now.
Steve turns away from her.
Author's note: I'd mistaken the time it would take to cover the ground I'd pre-outlined. Originally, I had the Age of Ultron all planned out - but it seems I'll be adding a few more chapters in to finish it as Steve is taking a frustratingly long time to act on...whatever it is he wanted to act on previously. Hope you all liked it, stay well - see you all again in two weeks! (Steve's fault)
