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saoneTitle: A Runaway American Dream 5/?
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
saone77
Pairing: pre Clint/Steve
Summary: Steve gets uninvited company on his great American roadtrip. But with Clint running from demons of his own, how can Steve leave him behind?
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Major plot points for the movie
Warnings: Not betad, grammarians beware. Talk of death, loss, and hints of depression.
Word Count: 3453
Disclaimer: This is indulgent, cracktastic fiction.
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4
"So, I have an idea," Clint says once they're back in the car. He's fiddling with the GPS again.
"Okay," Steve says. He's wary, but intrigued.
Clint lifts his head and looks Steve in the eye. "Do you trust me?"
"Yeah," Steve says easily. "Of course."
"Cool. Let's head south."
Steve nods and puts on his seat belt. "You mind if I ask where we're going, or is a surprise?"
"No, and maybe." Clint give Steve a sly grin, and he winks.
Steve tries to smile back, but he's a little distracted by the sudden, odd clenching feeling in the pit of his stomach. That grin. That wink. Those biceps. Jesus, does Clint even know what kind of a picture he makes? No, Steve's willing to bet he doesn't.
"We'll head towards Baltimore," Clint says as he starts the car and pulls out of the parking lot.
"What's in Baltimore?" Steve asks. "Besides Fort McHenry, of course."
"Is that where you did basic?"
"What? No, it's... It's... Francis Scott Key?" Steve raises one eyebrow at Clint's blank look. "The Battle for Baltimore Harbor?" Steve raises the other eyebrow. "The Star Spangled Banner? Is any of this ringing a bell?"
"Yeah, I know our national anthem, thanks," Clint says testily.
"But you don't know the history behind it?"
"There's only one nerd in this car, Steve, and it's not me."
Steve huffs. "You don't have to be a nerd to appreciate the... Jeez, what do they teach kids in schools these days?"
Clint doesn't respond, but Steve can clearly see the way his hands tighten on the steering wheel. He realizes that, once again, he's made a misstep.
"I'm sorry," Steve says. "I didn't meant to imply that you're-"
"What, stupid?"
"That wasn't what I was going to say," Steve says. "And that's not what I meant."
"Then what did you mean?" Clint asks.
Steve winces at the tartness in Clint's tone. "I don't think you're stupid, Clint. You've said that you're not much for history, and I just... I'm sorry," he says again.
Clint responds by turning on the radio. He doesn't ask Steve to find a new station, and Steve doesn't offer. The music that comes through isn't bad, though. It's maybe not something that Steve would have picked on his own, but he finds himself liking it all the same.
Steve watches as the muscles in Clint's shoulder relax and the tension leaves his arms. When Clint's fingers start tapping on the steering wheel, keeping up with the rythem of the current song, Steve decides to risk talking again.
"Who's this?" he asks over the music.
Clint startles just a bit. "Oh, uh, Tom Petty."
"I like it," Steve says.
Clint flashes him a grin. "Yeah? Cool." He pulls his lower lip between his teeth for a moment. "Maybe when we stop for the night I'll get my laptop out and you can go through my iTunes library."
Steve feels strangely warmed by the offer. "That would be real nice. Thanks."
"Yeah." Clint's eyes dart to Steve's face then back to the road. "You know what iTunes is, huh?"
Steve's pretty sure Clint's teasing him, and that makes the warm feeling get bigger. "Yes, I know what iTunes is," he says with a little huff. "I can even turn on my computer and hook up my iPod and everything."
"Well, check you out, Mr. Techno," Clint says with a smile.
"Yeah..." Steve shifts a bit in his seat. "I haven't really used it a lot, though," he says, hesitantly. "At first it was kind of fun; I found a bunch of records we used to have. But, it's like I can't listen to any of those now without thinking about..." Steve doesn't finish the sentence. Steve wants to say more, he wants to tell Clint everything that been clamoring to get out of him since he woke up from the ice, but the back of his throat has closed up, and it's hard enough to just breath through the sheer mass of sorrow weighing down on him.
"I get that," Clint says softly, after it's clear Steve is done talking. "Music, man... Sometimes I hear a certain song and I go right back to when I was a kid, or a stupid ass teenager." He glances at Steve. "Just a couple of chords can rip your heart out. There are some things I can't listen to unless I know I'm gonna have a bottle of bourbon and a box of tissues handy." He shrugs. "Then there are the songs that are bittersweet. The songs that make you think about what you've lost and about what you'll never find again. But, not in a bad way, you know. Just in a way that means you've grown up."
"So you think I just need to grow up?" Steve truly doesn't mean for the words to sound as harsh as they do.
"I think," Clint says slowly, "that once the loss is little less sharp, a little less fresh, you'll be able to look back on things differently."
It's on the tip of Steve's tongue to take Clint to task for even trying to understand the loss that Steve's suffered. Luckily, the memory of Clint's breakdown the night before surfaces, and Steve swallows down the hateful words that want to come out.
Clint may not know what it's like to lose everyone, but he knows what it's like to lose someone important. It's not like quantity counts over quality when it comes to heartbreak.
"The pain'll fade, Cap," Clint says, his voice uncharacteristically hushed. "For better or for worse. I guess we both need to remember that."
They drive on. Steve asks about the artist behind each new song he hears, even the ones he doesn't like. Clint tells him about singers, and bands, and concerts he's been to. He sings along sometimes, and Steve finds himself nodding and keeping time with his fingertips against his knee. He doesn't know exactly when the sorrow leaves him, he just knows that by the time Clint pulls into a place for lunch, Steve's feeling good. Not happy, just good.
They chow down on burgers, and onion rings, and milkshakes. Clint makes almost obscene noises over everything, but especially the shake. Between those sounds and the way Clint's tongue keeps coming out to lick at his lips, Steve thinks he might have to take good advantage of his shower time tonight.
They get back on the road and Clint still won't tell Steve exactly where they're going. He shrugs and points at the GPS like the little computer chose the destination for him and Clint is completely innocent in all things. Steve thinks about taking the GPS off of the dashboard and finding answer for himself, but he decides to leave it. He's sure that wherever Clint's taking them, Steve will enjoy it.
_____________
Steve is occasionally wrong about things.
"I hate to use the phrase 'man up'," Clint says, "mostly because I'm pretty sure Nat will magically know about it and kick my ass next time she sees me, but c'mon!" He gestures towards the large, low building sitting not more than a few hundred yards away.
The mall.
Clint brought him to a mall.
He did say he was going to do it, but, nonetheless, Steve still can't help but feel a tiny bit of betrayal at the action.
"I'm working up to it," Steve says.
"You're working..." Clint shakes his head. "Steve, we've been sitting here in my car slash oven for almost five minutes. Approximately how much longer do you think it's going to take you to 'work'? And, please keep in mind that, unlike you, I can die from heat exhaustion."
Steve scowls peevishly. He knows he's being ridiculous and Clint is being incredibly patient with him, but he really, really doesn't want to go in.
"Look, I get it," Clint says. "The idea of doing this freaks you out. But, man, you helped defeat an alien invasion for fuck's sake." Clint's bright and knowing eyes narrow. "Did you or did you not fight Nazis?"
Steve rolls his eyes. "Yeah, of course."
"And did you or did you not fight Hydra?"
"Yes, but-"
"And did you or did you not punch Hitler in the face?"
"No, actually, that I didn't do."
"What?" Clint blinks a few times. "Really? I thought-"
"That was part of my USO tour," Steve says.
"Oh. Huh." Clint shrugs, and a melancholy look steals over his face. "I may not have always listened that closely to Coulson's fanboy ravings."
"I did punch the Red Skull, though," Steve says after a moment. He won't claim that he defeated the Skull, since that was really mostly the Tesseract's doing, but he'll take some credit for where it's due. "I saved a bunch of cities from Hydra bombs."
"You totally did," Clint says, his expression becoming animated again. "And do you know who does shit like that?"
"Um, I just said I-"
"A badass, Cap. Badasses do shit like that." Clint leans over the seat and pokes Steve in the shoulder. "You are a badass."
"Oh, well-"
"Say it," Clint says.
"Say-"
"Say, I'm a badass."
Steve can feel the corners of his lips start to curve upward. "I'm a badass."
"Fuck yeah, you are," Clint says. "And do you know what badasses aren't scared of, Steve?"
"Shopping malls?" Steve asks innocently.
Clint grins and holds up one hand. "I solemnly swear that if you get too freaked by roving bands of teenagers, or over-zealous perfume sprayers, or clingy sales people we'll bug out. But, come on, I even found you a Macy's. Macy's, Steve."
Steve glances towards the building again, but this time he focuses on the sign. That last, lingering trace of enmity dissipates completely when he realizes that Clint purposefully took him to a store he'd remember.
"I've been in a Macy's before," Steve says softly. "Bucky and I even went to the parade a few times. It was at Thanksgiving, and-"
"Yeah, they're still doing it," Clint says.
"Really? Wow." Steve can't help but smile at the thought of something else surviving all these years. "Have you ever been?"
"Nah," Clint says. "I'm usually on duty."
"Every Thanksgiving?" Steve asks with a frown.
"Most holidays." Clint shrugs. He's clearly starting to look uncomfortable. "Hey, look, if you go in now, right now, I'll buy you a pretzel. One of those big, soft ones with stuff on it."
Steve smiles and accepts the deflection, though he doesn't forget the previous focus of the conversation. He takes a deep breath. "Make it a half dozen and you'll have yourself a deal."
"A half..." Clint shakes his head. "Don't let anyone ever call you a cheap date, Rogers," he says as he gets out of the car.
Steve knows that Clint is kidding, but it still makes him start just a bit. Then Clint thumps on the roof, and Steve's entire body jerks in his seat.
"Move it!" Clint calls out.
Steve moves it.
_____________
Macy's is large, and well-lit, and deliciously cold after the oppressive afternoon heat. It's also filled to the brim with so much stuff. Steve feels like he wants to crawl out of his skin.
Clint puts one hand on his back and starts to push him down the main walkway. Steve shies away because if he thinks his shirt is damp and disgusting, he can only imagine what it must feel like under Clint's palm. Clint steps to the side like Steve scalded him.
"Sorry," Steve says quickly. because it would be a damn shame if Clint didn't think Steve liked those guiding touches. "It's not that I... Um. I'm just kind of... Gross! That's it. I'm kind of gross right now."
Clint's lips twist into a wry smile. He chuckles. "Yeah, you are, actually," he says as he wipes his hand against his jeans.
Steve flushes.
"Let's get you some new duds, huh?" Clint says. He takes point and Steve dutifully follows behind.
The whole shopping thing is definitely less scary than Steve had expected, but he knows, without a doubt, that that's only because of Clint's presence. All Steve's had to do so far is give Clint his measurements then trail along with his arms outstretched as Clint piles more and more clothes on top of them.
Steve had tried to protest once - just the once - and Clint had silenced him mid-word with nothing more than an arched eyebrow. Steve wonders if that was something all S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were trained to do or if Clint was just special.
Finally Clint stops, puts his hand on his hips, and surveys Steve's burden. "Okay," he says, "I think that's enough for now."
"For now?" Steve squeaks.
"Time to go try them on."
"Try..." Steve blanches. "What, all of them?"
"Yes, all of them," Clint says. "How else will you know what you like?"
"Uh. I could guess?" Steve winces as that eyebrow goes up again. "Okay, okay, I'll try on everything."
Clint smiles, and nods, and Steve gets the distinct impression that he wants to reach up and ruffle his hair. The sad thing is, Steve would not only let him, he'd probably make embarrassingly happy noises to boot.
Inside the dressing room Steve starts to feel overwhelmed again. He foolishly thinks about asking Clint to come in with him, which leads him to think about what else he and Clint could do in the tiny room, which leads him to softly beat his head against one of the walls.
Steve wonders what Bucky would say if he could see him now. He grins, because, honestly, he knows exactly what Bucky would say, and it would probably be enough to make even Stark blush.
The clothes he tries on aren't bad. In fact, most of them are kind of nice. The various materials are soft, and sturdy in the case of the pants. The colors are rich and vibrant. Steve notes that most of the shirts Clint picked out for him are blue, and he decides to pay attention to what other colors might be available.
In the end, he finds three pairs of jeans that he likes and about a dozen new shirts. Steve has been avoiding looking at any price tags, but he still feels a tad lightheaded at how much money he's probably going to spend.
He exits the dressing room, and his gaze immediately land on Clint and the attractive young man Clint's talking to. Steve's eyes narrow and he feels a childish desire to drag Clint away from anyone else who might dare ask for his attention.
Steve doesn't have much of anything in this world, but he's pretty sure he has Clint - even if it's just as a friend - and he's damn sure going to make sure it stays that way. Even if he ends up acting like a bit of a moron.
Steve clears his throat pointedly. Both men turn to him.
"Hey, man," Clint says.
"Oh, wow," the interloper says. "Uh, I mean, hi." He glances to Clint then back to Steve, and the tips of his ears turn pink.
Steve is slightly mollified by the tag on the interloper - or Mark's - chest that shows he works at the store. "Hello," Steve says politely - because at his core, he's a good person - then he ignores Mark to focus completely on Clint. "So, I found some things I like." He holds up the clothes in his hands.
"Awesome," Clint says.
"I'm still not sure about the shorts, though." Steve's really not sure about showing his bare legs in public, regardless of how normal it might be in this day and age.
"Trust me, Steve," Clint says, "when the heat index gets up to 120, you'll appreciate them."
"A hundred and..." Clint might have a point. "Um, all right. And I want to get some shirts in other colors."
Clint blinks. "Why?"
"Well, because-"
"You don't like blue?"
"No," Steve says, "I like blue."
"Then you should wear blue," Clint says.
"Oh, yeah," Mark pipes up, "you should always wear blue. Definitely."
"Well, I'd like something in red," Steve says, lifting his chin up.
Clint and Mark look at each other. Mark frowns. Clint shrugs. Steve starts to get ticked off.
"The man wants red," Clint says, "what can you do?"
Mark shakes his head sadly. "Such a shame."
Steve's pretty sure something's gone over his head. But he gets his red shirt, and Clint picks up one in a rich, plum color, and Steve offers to buy it for him because, again, he's a good person.
Mark rings up Steve's purchases. When the total comes up, Clint's steadying hand finds it's way to Steve's back again. Steve focuses on Clint's touch, and ignores the black spots in front of his eyes, as he swipes his bank card through the machine beside the cash register. He scrawls his name on the tiny screen, and tries to smile as Mark hands him his bags.
"There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Clint asks.
Steve makes an odd, wordless, wounded sound.
Mark smiles happily at the both of them. Steve wonders how much he makes in commission.
"Come on," Clint says as he leads Steve and his bags away from a still smiling Mark, "I'm going to introduce you to the best part of the mall shopping experience."
_____________
"Okay," Steve says before he starts in on his third taco, "I can take or leave the shopping bit, but the food court is pretty neat."
Clint slurps some soda then grins at him. "See," he says, tilting his cup and using his straw to point at Steve, "I may not take you to nice places, but I take you places you'll enjoy." He winks, and Steve chokes a bit.
"You okay?" Clint asks, frowning.
"Hot sauce," Steve manages to croak.
"Ah."
Clint fiddles with his cup for a few minutes. Steve starts in on his egg rolls.
"You know, he thought we were together," Clint says offhandedly.
Steve blinks. "Who?"
"Macy guy. He thought we were together."
"We are together," Steve says, cocking his head to one side.
"No, I mean..." Clint starts picking at the remains of his nachos. "He thought we were together together. Like, together. Like, as in, you and I, you know, together."
Steve chews thoughtfully as he tries to figure out just what the heck Clint is... Oh. He chokes again.
By the time Steve successfully manages to get his food down his esophagus and not his windpipe, Clint is looking at him warily.
"How do you, um..." Steve clears his throat. "How do you figure that?"
Clint shrugs. "I don't know," he says, evasiveness written onto every inch of his face. "You didn't pick up on it, huh?"
"No," Steve says honestly.
"Some people might make that assumption," Clint says. His eyes flit up, and Steve feels like he's pinned to his chair. "Are you okay with that?"
It's on the tip of Steve's tongue to tell the truth - that not only is he okay with it, but he wouldn't mind if it was actually real. He knows, though, that this subject matter, while obviously not as dangerous as it had been in his time, could still be complicated, to say the least. "Are you?"
"I asked you first."
Steve wants to laugh at the quick reply. Instead, Steve thinks over not just his feelings, but also what he seems to have gleaned about Clint so far. He thinks he could be honest with this man, but he also thinks that between what happened last night and their earlier talk in the car, they might have already reached their quota for unvarnished feelings at the moment.
Besides, it just doesn't seem fitting to have that kind of discussion in a food court. Still, he needs to say something because Clint's starting to get a pinched look around his eyes.
"Well," Steve says, "I could certainly do worse." He wonders if the grin curving his mouth looks as wicked as it feels.
Clint barks out a laugh. His eye are warm, his smile fond. "Damn right. Also, that's disgusting."
Steve has a brief moment of pure panic before he realizes that Clint's pointing at his plate. Steve calmly opens up his last taco, stuffs one of his eggrolls inside of it, spreads the leftover jalapeno cheese sauce from his pretzel on top, and takes a huge bite. Clint pretends to gag, and Steve can't can't help but think his life is pretty darn awesome.
Author:
saone77Pairing: pre Clint/Steve
Summary: Steve gets uninvited company on his great American roadtrip. But with Clint running from demons of his own, how can Steve leave him behind?
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Major plot points for the movie
Warnings: Not betad, grammarians beware. Talk of death, loss, and hints of depression.
Word Count: 3453
Disclaimer: This is indulgent, cracktastic fiction.
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4
"So, I have an idea," Clint says once they're back in the car. He's fiddling with the GPS again.
"Okay," Steve says. He's wary, but intrigued.
Clint lifts his head and looks Steve in the eye. "Do you trust me?"
"Yeah," Steve says easily. "Of course."
"Cool. Let's head south."
Steve nods and puts on his seat belt. "You mind if I ask where we're going, or is a surprise?"
"No, and maybe." Clint give Steve a sly grin, and he winks.
Steve tries to smile back, but he's a little distracted by the sudden, odd clenching feeling in the pit of his stomach. That grin. That wink. Those biceps. Jesus, does Clint even know what kind of a picture he makes? No, Steve's willing to bet he doesn't.
"We'll head towards Baltimore," Clint says as he starts the car and pulls out of the parking lot.
"What's in Baltimore?" Steve asks. "Besides Fort McHenry, of course."
"Is that where you did basic?"
"What? No, it's... It's... Francis Scott Key?" Steve raises one eyebrow at Clint's blank look. "The Battle for Baltimore Harbor?" Steve raises the other eyebrow. "The Star Spangled Banner? Is any of this ringing a bell?"
"Yeah, I know our national anthem, thanks," Clint says testily.
"But you don't know the history behind it?"
"There's only one nerd in this car, Steve, and it's not me."
Steve huffs. "You don't have to be a nerd to appreciate the... Jeez, what do they teach kids in schools these days?"
Clint doesn't respond, but Steve can clearly see the way his hands tighten on the steering wheel. He realizes that, once again, he's made a misstep.
"I'm sorry," Steve says. "I didn't meant to imply that you're-"
"What, stupid?"
"That wasn't what I was going to say," Steve says. "And that's not what I meant."
"Then what did you mean?" Clint asks.
Steve winces at the tartness in Clint's tone. "I don't think you're stupid, Clint. You've said that you're not much for history, and I just... I'm sorry," he says again.
Clint responds by turning on the radio. He doesn't ask Steve to find a new station, and Steve doesn't offer. The music that comes through isn't bad, though. It's maybe not something that Steve would have picked on his own, but he finds himself liking it all the same.
Steve watches as the muscles in Clint's shoulder relax and the tension leaves his arms. When Clint's fingers start tapping on the steering wheel, keeping up with the rythem of the current song, Steve decides to risk talking again.
"Who's this?" he asks over the music.
Clint startles just a bit. "Oh, uh, Tom Petty."
"I like it," Steve says.
Clint flashes him a grin. "Yeah? Cool." He pulls his lower lip between his teeth for a moment. "Maybe when we stop for the night I'll get my laptop out and you can go through my iTunes library."
Steve feels strangely warmed by the offer. "That would be real nice. Thanks."
"Yeah." Clint's eyes dart to Steve's face then back to the road. "You know what iTunes is, huh?"
Steve's pretty sure Clint's teasing him, and that makes the warm feeling get bigger. "Yes, I know what iTunes is," he says with a little huff. "I can even turn on my computer and hook up my iPod and everything."
"Well, check you out, Mr. Techno," Clint says with a smile.
"Yeah..." Steve shifts a bit in his seat. "I haven't really used it a lot, though," he says, hesitantly. "At first it was kind of fun; I found a bunch of records we used to have. But, it's like I can't listen to any of those now without thinking about..." Steve doesn't finish the sentence. Steve wants to say more, he wants to tell Clint everything that been clamoring to get out of him since he woke up from the ice, but the back of his throat has closed up, and it's hard enough to just breath through the sheer mass of sorrow weighing down on him.
"I get that," Clint says softly, after it's clear Steve is done talking. "Music, man... Sometimes I hear a certain song and I go right back to when I was a kid, or a stupid ass teenager." He glances at Steve. "Just a couple of chords can rip your heart out. There are some things I can't listen to unless I know I'm gonna have a bottle of bourbon and a box of tissues handy." He shrugs. "Then there are the songs that are bittersweet. The songs that make you think about what you've lost and about what you'll never find again. But, not in a bad way, you know. Just in a way that means you've grown up."
"So you think I just need to grow up?" Steve truly doesn't mean for the words to sound as harsh as they do.
"I think," Clint says slowly, "that once the loss is little less sharp, a little less fresh, you'll be able to look back on things differently."
It's on the tip of Steve's tongue to take Clint to task for even trying to understand the loss that Steve's suffered. Luckily, the memory of Clint's breakdown the night before surfaces, and Steve swallows down the hateful words that want to come out.
Clint may not know what it's like to lose everyone, but he knows what it's like to lose someone important. It's not like quantity counts over quality when it comes to heartbreak.
"The pain'll fade, Cap," Clint says, his voice uncharacteristically hushed. "For better or for worse. I guess we both need to remember that."
They drive on. Steve asks about the artist behind each new song he hears, even the ones he doesn't like. Clint tells him about singers, and bands, and concerts he's been to. He sings along sometimes, and Steve finds himself nodding and keeping time with his fingertips against his knee. He doesn't know exactly when the sorrow leaves him, he just knows that by the time Clint pulls into a place for lunch, Steve's feeling good. Not happy, just good.
They chow down on burgers, and onion rings, and milkshakes. Clint makes almost obscene noises over everything, but especially the shake. Between those sounds and the way Clint's tongue keeps coming out to lick at his lips, Steve thinks he might have to take good advantage of his shower time tonight.
They get back on the road and Clint still won't tell Steve exactly where they're going. He shrugs and points at the GPS like the little computer chose the destination for him and Clint is completely innocent in all things. Steve thinks about taking the GPS off of the dashboard and finding answer for himself, but he decides to leave it. He's sure that wherever Clint's taking them, Steve will enjoy it.
_____________
Steve is occasionally wrong about things.
"I hate to use the phrase 'man up'," Clint says, "mostly because I'm pretty sure Nat will magically know about it and kick my ass next time she sees me, but c'mon!" He gestures towards the large, low building sitting not more than a few hundred yards away.
The mall.
Clint brought him to a mall.
He did say he was going to do it, but, nonetheless, Steve still can't help but feel a tiny bit of betrayal at the action.
"I'm working up to it," Steve says.
"You're working..." Clint shakes his head. "Steve, we've been sitting here in my car slash oven for almost five minutes. Approximately how much longer do you think it's going to take you to 'work'? And, please keep in mind that, unlike you, I can die from heat exhaustion."
Steve scowls peevishly. He knows he's being ridiculous and Clint is being incredibly patient with him, but he really, really doesn't want to go in.
"Look, I get it," Clint says. "The idea of doing this freaks you out. But, man, you helped defeat an alien invasion for fuck's sake." Clint's bright and knowing eyes narrow. "Did you or did you not fight Nazis?"
Steve rolls his eyes. "Yeah, of course."
"And did you or did you not fight Hydra?"
"Yes, but-"
"And did you or did you not punch Hitler in the face?"
"No, actually, that I didn't do."
"What?" Clint blinks a few times. "Really? I thought-"
"That was part of my USO tour," Steve says.
"Oh. Huh." Clint shrugs, and a melancholy look steals over his face. "I may not have always listened that closely to Coulson's fanboy ravings."
"I did punch the Red Skull, though," Steve says after a moment. He won't claim that he defeated the Skull, since that was really mostly the Tesseract's doing, but he'll take some credit for where it's due. "I saved a bunch of cities from Hydra bombs."
"You totally did," Clint says, his expression becoming animated again. "And do you know who does shit like that?"
"Um, I just said I-"
"A badass, Cap. Badasses do shit like that." Clint leans over the seat and pokes Steve in the shoulder. "You are a badass."
"Oh, well-"
"Say it," Clint says.
"Say-"
"Say, I'm a badass."
Steve can feel the corners of his lips start to curve upward. "I'm a badass."
"Fuck yeah, you are," Clint says. "And do you know what badasses aren't scared of, Steve?"
"Shopping malls?" Steve asks innocently.
Clint grins and holds up one hand. "I solemnly swear that if you get too freaked by roving bands of teenagers, or over-zealous perfume sprayers, or clingy sales people we'll bug out. But, come on, I even found you a Macy's. Macy's, Steve."
Steve glances towards the building again, but this time he focuses on the sign. That last, lingering trace of enmity dissipates completely when he realizes that Clint purposefully took him to a store he'd remember.
"I've been in a Macy's before," Steve says softly. "Bucky and I even went to the parade a few times. It was at Thanksgiving, and-"
"Yeah, they're still doing it," Clint says.
"Really? Wow." Steve can't help but smile at the thought of something else surviving all these years. "Have you ever been?"
"Nah," Clint says. "I'm usually on duty."
"Every Thanksgiving?" Steve asks with a frown.
"Most holidays." Clint shrugs. He's clearly starting to look uncomfortable. "Hey, look, if you go in now, right now, I'll buy you a pretzel. One of those big, soft ones with stuff on it."
Steve smiles and accepts the deflection, though he doesn't forget the previous focus of the conversation. He takes a deep breath. "Make it a half dozen and you'll have yourself a deal."
"A half..." Clint shakes his head. "Don't let anyone ever call you a cheap date, Rogers," he says as he gets out of the car.
Steve knows that Clint is kidding, but it still makes him start just a bit. Then Clint thumps on the roof, and Steve's entire body jerks in his seat.
"Move it!" Clint calls out.
Steve moves it.
_____________
Macy's is large, and well-lit, and deliciously cold after the oppressive afternoon heat. It's also filled to the brim with so much stuff. Steve feels like he wants to crawl out of his skin.
Clint puts one hand on his back and starts to push him down the main walkway. Steve shies away because if he thinks his shirt is damp and disgusting, he can only imagine what it must feel like under Clint's palm. Clint steps to the side like Steve scalded him.
"Sorry," Steve says quickly. because it would be a damn shame if Clint didn't think Steve liked those guiding touches. "It's not that I... Um. I'm just kind of... Gross! That's it. I'm kind of gross right now."
Clint's lips twist into a wry smile. He chuckles. "Yeah, you are, actually," he says as he wipes his hand against his jeans.
Steve flushes.
"Let's get you some new duds, huh?" Clint says. He takes point and Steve dutifully follows behind.
The whole shopping thing is definitely less scary than Steve had expected, but he knows, without a doubt, that that's only because of Clint's presence. All Steve's had to do so far is give Clint his measurements then trail along with his arms outstretched as Clint piles more and more clothes on top of them.
Steve had tried to protest once - just the once - and Clint had silenced him mid-word with nothing more than an arched eyebrow. Steve wonders if that was something all S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were trained to do or if Clint was just special.
Finally Clint stops, puts his hand on his hips, and surveys Steve's burden. "Okay," he says, "I think that's enough for now."
"For now?" Steve squeaks.
"Time to go try them on."
"Try..." Steve blanches. "What, all of them?"
"Yes, all of them," Clint says. "How else will you know what you like?"
"Uh. I could guess?" Steve winces as that eyebrow goes up again. "Okay, okay, I'll try on everything."
Clint smiles, and nods, and Steve gets the distinct impression that he wants to reach up and ruffle his hair. The sad thing is, Steve would not only let him, he'd probably make embarrassingly happy noises to boot.
Inside the dressing room Steve starts to feel overwhelmed again. He foolishly thinks about asking Clint to come in with him, which leads him to think about what else he and Clint could do in the tiny room, which leads him to softly beat his head against one of the walls.
Steve wonders what Bucky would say if he could see him now. He grins, because, honestly, he knows exactly what Bucky would say, and it would probably be enough to make even Stark blush.
The clothes he tries on aren't bad. In fact, most of them are kind of nice. The various materials are soft, and sturdy in the case of the pants. The colors are rich and vibrant. Steve notes that most of the shirts Clint picked out for him are blue, and he decides to pay attention to what other colors might be available.
In the end, he finds three pairs of jeans that he likes and about a dozen new shirts. Steve has been avoiding looking at any price tags, but he still feels a tad lightheaded at how much money he's probably going to spend.
He exits the dressing room, and his gaze immediately land on Clint and the attractive young man Clint's talking to. Steve's eyes narrow and he feels a childish desire to drag Clint away from anyone else who might dare ask for his attention.
Steve doesn't have much of anything in this world, but he's pretty sure he has Clint - even if it's just as a friend - and he's damn sure going to make sure it stays that way. Even if he ends up acting like a bit of a moron.
Steve clears his throat pointedly. Both men turn to him.
"Hey, man," Clint says.
"Oh, wow," the interloper says. "Uh, I mean, hi." He glances to Clint then back to Steve, and the tips of his ears turn pink.
Steve is slightly mollified by the tag on the interloper - or Mark's - chest that shows he works at the store. "Hello," Steve says politely - because at his core, he's a good person - then he ignores Mark to focus completely on Clint. "So, I found some things I like." He holds up the clothes in his hands.
"Awesome," Clint says.
"I'm still not sure about the shorts, though." Steve's really not sure about showing his bare legs in public, regardless of how normal it might be in this day and age.
"Trust me, Steve," Clint says, "when the heat index gets up to 120, you'll appreciate them."
"A hundred and..." Clint might have a point. "Um, all right. And I want to get some shirts in other colors."
Clint blinks. "Why?"
"Well, because-"
"You don't like blue?"
"No," Steve says, "I like blue."
"Then you should wear blue," Clint says.
"Oh, yeah," Mark pipes up, "you should always wear blue. Definitely."
"Well, I'd like something in red," Steve says, lifting his chin up.
Clint and Mark look at each other. Mark frowns. Clint shrugs. Steve starts to get ticked off.
"The man wants red," Clint says, "what can you do?"
Mark shakes his head sadly. "Such a shame."
Steve's pretty sure something's gone over his head. But he gets his red shirt, and Clint picks up one in a rich, plum color, and Steve offers to buy it for him because, again, he's a good person.
Mark rings up Steve's purchases. When the total comes up, Clint's steadying hand finds it's way to Steve's back again. Steve focuses on Clint's touch, and ignores the black spots in front of his eyes, as he swipes his bank card through the machine beside the cash register. He scrawls his name on the tiny screen, and tries to smile as Mark hands him his bags.
"There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Clint asks.
Steve makes an odd, wordless, wounded sound.
Mark smiles happily at the both of them. Steve wonders how much he makes in commission.
"Come on," Clint says as he leads Steve and his bags away from a still smiling Mark, "I'm going to introduce you to the best part of the mall shopping experience."
_____________
"Okay," Steve says before he starts in on his third taco, "I can take or leave the shopping bit, but the food court is pretty neat."
Clint slurps some soda then grins at him. "See," he says, tilting his cup and using his straw to point at Steve, "I may not take you to nice places, but I take you places you'll enjoy." He winks, and Steve chokes a bit.
"You okay?" Clint asks, frowning.
"Hot sauce," Steve manages to croak.
"Ah."
Clint fiddles with his cup for a few minutes. Steve starts in on his egg rolls.
"You know, he thought we were together," Clint says offhandedly.
Steve blinks. "Who?"
"Macy guy. He thought we were together."
"We are together," Steve says, cocking his head to one side.
"No, I mean..." Clint starts picking at the remains of his nachos. "He thought we were together together. Like, together. Like, as in, you and I, you know, together."
Steve chews thoughtfully as he tries to figure out just what the heck Clint is... Oh. He chokes again.
By the time Steve successfully manages to get his food down his esophagus and not his windpipe, Clint is looking at him warily.
"How do you, um..." Steve clears his throat. "How do you figure that?"
Clint shrugs. "I don't know," he says, evasiveness written onto every inch of his face. "You didn't pick up on it, huh?"
"No," Steve says honestly.
"Some people might make that assumption," Clint says. His eyes flit up, and Steve feels like he's pinned to his chair. "Are you okay with that?"
It's on the tip of Steve's tongue to tell the truth - that not only is he okay with it, but he wouldn't mind if it was actually real. He knows, though, that this subject matter, while obviously not as dangerous as it had been in his time, could still be complicated, to say the least. "Are you?"
"I asked you first."
Steve wants to laugh at the quick reply. Instead, Steve thinks over not just his feelings, but also what he seems to have gleaned about Clint so far. He thinks he could be honest with this man, but he also thinks that between what happened last night and their earlier talk in the car, they might have already reached their quota for unvarnished feelings at the moment.
Besides, it just doesn't seem fitting to have that kind of discussion in a food court. Still, he needs to say something because Clint's starting to get a pinched look around his eyes.
"Well," Steve says, "I could certainly do worse." He wonders if the grin curving his mouth looks as wicked as it feels.
Clint barks out a laugh. His eye are warm, his smile fond. "Damn right. Also, that's disgusting."
Steve has a brief moment of pure panic before he realizes that Clint's pointing at his plate. Steve calmly opens up his last taco, stuffs one of his eggrolls inside of it, spreads the leftover jalapeno cheese sauce from his pretzel on top, and takes a huge bite. Clint pretends to gag, and Steve can't can't help but think his life is pretty darn awesome.
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no subject
Date: 2012-09-01 11:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-09-02 02:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-09-02 05:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-09-02 02:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-09-02 12:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-09-02 02:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-09-03 11:40 am (UTC)Awwww! Love car-slash-oven.
And still pre-slash? STILL? Don't make me bust out my raised eyebrows of expectations!
no subject
Date: 2012-09-03 08:24 pm (UTC)These things take time! :P
I mean, I haven't even made them talk about their dead ex-loves yet. ;D
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Date: 2012-09-06 12:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-09-06 04:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-09-06 02:17 am (UTC)A long, slow build up with good characterization and tip-toeing among the emotional land mines of their various issues is worth waiting for.
no subject
Date: 2012-09-07 09:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-09-21 08:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-09-22 12:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-11-03 02:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-11-04 04:45 pm (UTC)I have stuff written, but I realized that it would work better further along in the story. I keep trying to bridge the gap between where I left them and where they're going to be, but nothing seems to be sticking right now. There's been a lot of deleting going on. :/
no subject
Date: 2014-04-28 09:07 am (UTC)There is a definite lack of this pairing around, especially as well written as this.