[a man and woman who call themselves mr. and mrs. thompson, with an infant in tow, check into a motel somewhere off of highway 96 in arizona. they arrive on a tuesday in the middle of july, one with record high temperatures and hardly a soul for miles around. the motel, in fact, is empty, save for its small collection of staff, and the attendant at the check-in desk looks almost shocked to see anyone approach. "we're lost," the woman says with fond exasperation. she leans in for a conspiratorial stage whisper. "you know men and asking for directions." the man says nothing, just smiles sheepishly in response, and then they're on their way.
no one sees or hears from them again for the duration of their stay.
steve and natasha think they lose the last tail around thirty miles outside of phoenix, but they can't be sure, they can never be sure. hydra's reach still goes far, still has a way of popping up in unturned corners without any sort of predictability; even as remote as they are, neither can afford to let their guard down for one second, because it's not just themselves they're thinking about anymore. maybe there are some who'd stop at nothing to get their hands on this child, but they'll have to go through both of his parents first. both of his parents, and one hell of a fight.
her hair's blonde now, cut in a sharp-angled bob, but subtle roots of red are starting to reappear. it's a sign of what they both know; they can't stay ahead of the curve forever sitting still, and it's time to move on. natasha already has most of the bags packed before the first rays of sunlight begin to peek in through the curtains, the finesse and efficiency of a spy that she's never lost and that continues to serve them well. there's no set plan for where they're going next, how long and how far they'll drive. just the need to move, and to do it soon.
still, she allows herself a moment's pause to take in the scene before her eyes: steve, still in bed, with his arm curled around james. her boys, both fast asleep. her boys; a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth at the thought. no matter what's behind them and the difficulties still inevitably ahead, she'd never trade any of this, everything she'd thought she could never have but somehow does, for the world.
she climbs in bed quietly, careful not to disturb anyone for the moment, and then:]
Rise and shine, sleepyheads, [she says in a low voice, pausing to lean in and brush her lips against steve's forehead.] Stay in there any longer, and you're going to fossilize.
[some things die hard. her terrible jokes will be around with the cockroaches after nuclear war destroys the world.]
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no one sees or hears from them again for the duration of their stay.
steve and natasha think they lose the last tail around thirty miles outside of phoenix, but they can't be sure, they can never be sure. hydra's reach still goes far, still has a way of popping up in unturned corners without any sort of predictability; even as remote as they are, neither can afford to let their guard down for one second, because it's not just themselves they're thinking about anymore. maybe there are some who'd stop at nothing to get their hands on this child, but they'll have to go through both of his parents first. both of his parents, and one hell of a fight.
her hair's blonde now, cut in a sharp-angled bob, but subtle roots of red are starting to reappear. it's a sign of what they both know; they can't stay ahead of the curve forever sitting still, and it's time to move on. natasha already has most of the bags packed before the first rays of sunlight begin to peek in through the curtains, the finesse and efficiency of a spy that she's never lost and that continues to serve them well. there's no set plan for where they're going next, how long and how far they'll drive. just the need to move, and to do it soon.
still, she allows herself a moment's pause to take in the scene before her eyes: steve, still in bed, with his arm curled around james. her boys, both fast asleep. her boys; a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth at the thought. no matter what's behind them and the difficulties still inevitably ahead, she'd never trade any of this, everything she'd thought she could never have but somehow does, for the world.
she climbs in bed quietly, careful not to disturb anyone for the moment, and then:]
Rise and shine, sleepyheads, [she says in a low voice, pausing to lean in and brush her lips against steve's forehead.] Stay in there any longer, and you're going to fossilize.
[some things die hard. her terrible jokes will be around with the cockroaches after nuclear war destroys the world.]