[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.]
like a week after the chitauri invasion or sth who knows
( the shield doctors are all baffled. the serum shouldn't have sterilized him — if anything, it should have made him even more virile. it heightened every other aspect of his body to its peak, so why not this?
steve knows. he doesn't want to talk about it, so he hasn't explained to the doctors, but he knows.
he hadn't realized at the time, of course. you don't think a person would do that to another human being — certainly not a doctor. doctors are meant to heal, not hurt. not cause damage the patient will be dealing with seventy years in the future, suddenly unable to breathe for the first time in two years. he's read enough history books, though, to realize what must have happened. forcible sterilization was a common enough procedure when he was growing up, and he would have been a prime candidate. whatever doctor did it genuinely thought he was doing a good thing, preventing steve from spreading around his shitty genes.
it's a strange thing, accepting the loss of something you never expected to have anyway. kids were never going to be in his future, but the idea that he just... can't. even if he wanted to, it's physically impossible. that's something he's still reeling from, still trying to parse.
he's sitting in central park, staring at his hands, when he hears footsteps coming his way. when he looks up and sees natasha, his expression jumps between a frown and a tight smile, and he scoots over on the bench. she's welcome to join him, if she likes. )
["new phone who dis" she might type, if it were anyone else or any other circumstance. it's this, though — the thing that two years wouldn't help her wrap her mind around, much less two days.
but even if she still doesn't know what to say (james comes by this honestly from all sides), saying something is better than saying nothing at all. taking shots at tony is neutral, easy. they can start there.]
Better not let him hear you say that. His ego might take out a 30-mile radius when it implodes.
Well, he's had longer to come up with cooler stuff where I come from. It's not his fault his work's subpar.
( sending these texts knowing tony could absolutely hack their phones and read every message. whether tony knows it or not, he's kind of james' father figure, and james takes a lot of joy in messing with him. )
[he comes by that honestly, too. natasha smiles in spite of herself, and for a second, she feels a surge of something like... pride. it's not hers to have, not really, and never will be, but it's there all the same.]
If "cooler stuff" involves voice-activated emojis, I may give him a pass.
We don't even text anymore, actually. Holographic video frequencies are where it's at, mom.
( ...shit. he hadn't actually meant to send that text with the "mom" attached, he pressed send before he could fix it. rather than let either of them dwell on that, he's just going to barrel through the awkward and change the subject — )
No one's been willing to tell me where Captain America is.
[talk about out of the frying pan and into the fire, right next to the proverbial elephant in the proverbial room. the smile fades when the whole awkward dust of this settles back in, hangs in the air, because this doesn't just have implications for her. and that —
focus on simple answers. he's owed that much, and she feels a responsibility to provide.]
No one knows. [that's what she hopes at the end of the day, anyway. she hopes he's learned something from her, that she'll be able to pay her debts back in something other than buying time. ("if it were down to me to save your life... would you trust me to do it?")] He's off the grid.
[her too; officially, she's nowhere at all, and for the foreseeable future, she intends to keep it that way.]
( she's the black widow. the best spy in the world, a genius, and captain america's best friend. if anyone would have an idea where he was, she would. )
Why is he off the grid? What happened, is it an Ultron thing? Tony said that'd been taken care of.
[but there are some answers that she can't give over a starkphone.]
It isn't exactly the kind of story you can sum up in 140 characters.
[a pause. her fingers rest on the sides of the screen as she contemplates the next message, goes through three or four iterations of it in her head before finally typing it out. she knows the way to find even ground with cooper barton, and while this situation couldn't be more different —]
Might go better with pizza.
[an invitation, if he wants to take it. she waits.]
( not the kind of story you can sum up — that's probably true, but it's also code. natasha doesn't want to talk about it over the phone, which means it's something tony shouldn't see, which means... james doesn't know what it means. what secrets could she have to keep from him? if she knows where captain america is, shouldn't tony know too?
none of this is making any sense. the soldier wouldn't go off the grid — even if he would, the spy would follow him. they're in love. and tony's their friend, he would know where they've gone. no one would be keeping secrets from each other, it doesn't make sense. )
I've never had pizza before.
( he'll come, but there better be answers waiting for him to go along with that pizza. )
[she's heard bits and pieces about the reality where ultron did a lot more than drop a city out of the sky, and in what she doesn't know, she can fill in some of the gaps. they're all dead, save tony. the world's in shambles, with only small pockets of resistance. that's what the children left behind have to adapt to, have to navigate.
and not for the first time, something seizes in her chest. it's not her fault, it's not even the other-her's fault, but the guilt comes nevertheless. she knows what it's like to be a child and not actually get to be one at all. no one else should ever have to live like that, especially under her watch.]
Pepperoni's my favorite. It was the first kind I ever had.
[a long time ago, fresh out of the red room. that's a story she'll keep to herself, though.]
❰ her attempt at... what, bonding? distraction? whatever it is, james sees it, and at any other time he might be genuinely interested in natasha's opinions on pizza. even now he's filing that knowledge away — pepperoni's her favourite, it's the first she ever had — but all he really wants now are answers. ❱
Meet me at your favourite place. Whoever gets there last has to pay.
[she lets out a breath, and with it goes some tension she'd been unknowingly holding in her shoulders. there are many more delicate steps to take, but this — is a start.
a start down a very long road.]
You know that once something's in writing, you can't back out, right? [a dry joke, one sitting on layers he won't understand.] Have your $15 ready when you get to Vito's :p
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
waves hands around
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.]
like a week after the chitauri invasion or sth who knows
steve knows. he doesn't want to talk about it, so he hasn't explained to the doctors, but he knows.
he hadn't realized at the time, of course. you don't think a person would do that to another human being — certainly not a doctor. doctors are meant to heal, not hurt. not cause damage the patient will be dealing with seventy years in the future, suddenly unable to breathe for the first time in two years. he's read enough history books, though, to realize what must have happened. forcible sterilization was a common enough procedure when he was growing up, and he would have been a prime candidate. whatever doctor did it genuinely thought he was doing a good thing, preventing steve from spreading around his shitty genes.
it's a strange thing, accepting the loss of something you never expected to have anyway. kids were never going to be in his future, but the idea that he just... can't. even if he wanted to, it's physically impossible. that's something he's still reeling from, still trying to parse.
he's sitting in central park, staring at his hands, when he hears footsteps coming his way. when he looks up and sees natasha, his expression jumps between a frown and a tight smile, and he scoots over on the bench. she's welcome to join him, if she likes. )
no subject
( james' way of saying "hi mom, here's my new number". he's not so great at this communication thing. )
no subject
but even if she still doesn't know what to say (james comes by this honestly from all sides), saying something is better than saying nothing at all. taking shots at tony is neutral, easy. they can start there.]
Better not let him hear you say that. His ego might take out a 30-mile radius when it implodes.
no subject
( sending these texts knowing tony could absolutely hack their phones and read every message. whether tony knows it or not, he's kind of james' father figure, and james takes a lot of joy in messing with him. )
no subject
If "cooler stuff" involves voice-activated emojis, I may give him a pass.
no subject
( ...shit. he hadn't actually meant to send that text with the "mom" attached, he pressed send before he could fix it. rather than let either of them dwell on that, he's just going to barrel through the awkward and change the subject — )
No one's been willing to tell me where Captain America is.
( — to one that's even more awkward. )
no subject
focus on simple answers. he's owed that much, and she feels a responsibility to provide.]
No one knows. [that's what she hopes at the end of the day, anyway. she hopes he's learned something from her, that she'll be able to pay her debts back in something other than buying time. ("if it were down to me to save your life... would you trust me to do it?")] He's off the grid.
[her too; officially, she's nowhere at all, and for the foreseeable future, she intends to keep it that way.]
no subject
( she's the black widow. the best spy in the world, a genius, and captain america's best friend. if anyone would have an idea where he was, she would. )
Why is he off the grid? What happened, is it an Ultron thing? Tony said that'd been taken care of.
no subject
It isn't exactly the kind of story you can sum up in 140 characters.
[a pause. her fingers rest on the sides of the screen as she contemplates the next message, goes through three or four iterations of it in her head before finally typing it out. she knows the way to find even ground with cooper barton, and while this situation couldn't be more different —]
Might go better with pizza.
[an invitation, if he wants to take it. she waits.]
no subject
none of this is making any sense. the soldier wouldn't go off the grid — even if he would, the spy would follow him. they're in love. and tony's their friend, he would know where they've gone. no one would be keeping secrets from each other, it doesn't make sense. )
I've never had pizza before.
( he'll come, but there better be answers waiting for him to go along with that pizza. )
no subject
and not for the first time, something seizes in her chest. it's not her fault, it's not even the other-her's fault, but the guilt comes nevertheless. she knows what it's like to be a child and not actually get to be one at all. no one else should ever have to live like that, especially under her watch.]
Pepperoni's my favorite. It was the first kind I ever had.
[a long time ago, fresh out of the red room. that's a story she'll keep to herself, though.]
no subject
Meet me at your favourite place. Whoever gets there last has to pay.
no subject
a start down a very long road.]
You know that once something's in writing, you can't back out, right? [a dry joke, one sitting on layers he won't understand.] Have your $15 ready when you get to Vito's :p