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Steve stood at attention in front of Director Fury’s desk. He’d hoped that this would be a quick meeting to wrap up loose ends had turned it to a very frustrating argument. “With all due respect, sir, the army seems to have done without me just fine for 70 years. And I can’t even imagine what you think SHIELD would do with a soldier like me.”

“A super-soldier,” corrected Fury, ignoring how Steve flinched at the word.

“And since I’m legally dead, I don’t actually have any obligations to the US Army. So no, I’m not going to be staying on SHIELD property.”

“I've got paperwork that says you’re very much alive, Captain. And I’m sure I can get paperwork to show you haven’t completed your service.”

“I doubt that very much, sir. I don’t think the military is that desperate to keep a ninety year old man in the service,” Steve responded, bitterly.

“I’m sure SHIELD can take care of that. And SHIELD can take care of putting you on our payroll. You won’t be the first good soldier we've borrowed.”

“Have you actually read my service record, sir? I lied to get into the army, I disobeyed orders pretty much constantly, I argued with my superiors when I wasn't outright disobeying them, and on top of that I was declared dead seventy years ago.”

Fury started to respond, but Steve continued, “I've seen the paperwork.”

“SHIELD isn't just going to let you leave to wander around New York. “

“Is that a threat, sir?”

“No, Captain, it’s a promise. We did you wrong letting you wake up by yourself; at least let us fix it?”

“Director Fury, even I can’t believe you have my best interests at heart. You let me wake up by myself so you could drag me into the Avengers. I’m not dumb enough to believe you’d let that happen by accident. I know you had Agent Coulson assigned to watch me, and I know he wouldn't have let that happen.” Admittedly, it had taken a few awkward conversations to realize that Coulson had been watching him sleep as part of an assignment, not just as a fan.

“Did I say it was an accident? I’m admitting to a mistake here, Captain, work with me. We've got safe houses you can use, or you can join the Avengers frat house that Stark’s working on in his tower. I think that’s a terrible idea, but I doubt that will stop you.”

Steve started to object, but Fury continued, “After you've had some time to acclimate, you can come back and we’ll set you up as an agent. I know you don’t want to abandon the Avengers.”

“I’m not abandoning anything. I just want some time away from this, sir.” Steve sighed, and then brightened, sensing a way out. “I know that you've assigned Agent Coulson to help me acclimate, after his miraculous resurrection,” Steve said, with anger creeping in to the last two words. “Don’t you think that I would acclimate better if I wasn't penned up in a SHIELD facility?”

“Fine, so no safe house. Go hang out with Stark. Do what you want.”

“What I want is a life away from all of this,” Steve said, “no SHIELD, no military.”

“Fine, go look for your own place. Good luck with that. Just let us know your forwarding address. There’ll be hell to pay if we misplace Captain America.”

Steve frowned, but figured that was as close to agreement as he was going to get. “I’m glad you said that sir,” he said, and tore a page out of the notebook he’d been carrying. “Here’s my new address.” It wasn't worth telling Fury what kind of sticker shock he’d had with real estate prices. “I’m moving in tomorrow. I do have one request, since you’re so eager to get me settled in.”

Fury frowned, “What?”

“Get me a nice houseplant.” Steve left, feeling less proud of getting the last word than he’d expected to.

**

The first evening in the new place found Steve absorbed in sketching his new surroundings. The doorbell rang, and he jumped, startled. He couldn't imagine anyone dropping by to visit him. He didn't really know anyone outside of the Avengers and SHIELD, except for the little old lady who lived next door to him, and had eyed him with suspicion the entire time he’d been moving in. When he’d tried to introduce himself to her, all he’d gotten was her name, Ms. Alvarez, and the strong suspicion that she thought he was a very shady character, given that the introduction had occurred through her locked door. He set his sketch pad aside and moved to the door, peering through the peephole.

“Hawkeye?” he asked opening the door, and then, doing a double take, “I didn't order a pizza.”

“Can I come in anyway, Captain America? It’s raining out.” Clint shook himself like a dog, apparently to demonstrate that he’d been caught in a torrential downpour.

“Don’t call me that. Steve’s fine.” He took the pizza from Hawkeye and set it in the kitchen, throwing a dishtowel over his shoulder. “You’re dripping on my floor.”

“Geez, sorry, Steve. This is the thanks I get for feeding a national hero?” Clint teased, wiping his face and then swiping at the puddles on the floor.

“Thank you?” Steve responded, and then sighed. “You look like a drowned rat. Have you never heard of an umbrella?”

“I don’t usually bring one on surveillance missions, no. They get in the way. Is this your bathroom?” Clint asked, pointing vaguely toward the back of the apartment.

“Through the bedroom. There are towels in the cabinet. Go dry off before you catch pneumonia or something.”

“Aw, I didn't know you cared,” Clint said, heading off. He toweled off as best as he could, shrugging out of his sodden coat, and threw the towel around his shoulders. “So this is… cozy.”

“You show up at my door unannounced and now you want to criticize my decorating skills?”

“I show up at your door with food, and provide you with classified SHIELD secrets. I think I’m entitled to question your lack of decorating.” Clint waved at the blank walls and milk crate TV stand. “You haven’t exactly settled in, have you?”

“Classified SHIELD secrets? In the pizza? Does the pepperoni spell out a code?” Steve sighed. “I was kind of planning on calling it an early night, Agent Barton.”

“Oh, hey, no Agent Barton stuff. It’s Clint, if you’re Steve. And it’s Clint anyway, since the agent thing is kind of up in the air now.”

“Because of what happened with,” Steve started to say ‘with Loki’, then changed his mind at the look on Clint’s face, “with the Avengers?”

“That’s part of it, yeah.” Clint said flatly, and then brightened. “You didn't ask me about the surveillance mission!”

Steve backtracked through the conversation. “Like why you don’t have enough sense to come out of the rain?”

Clint opened the pizza box and grabbed a slice, waiting until Steve had served himself to answer. “It’s easier to see into your windows that way. But you’ve been boring all night.”

“Excuse me?” spat Steve, dropping his pizza back into the box. “You've been spying on me? Like some peeping Tom?”

“Well, no, you've had your clothes on all night,” Clint joked, then sobered up at Steve’s annoyed expression. “You knew SHIELD was watching you, right? Monitoring pretty much everything you do? Just be glad it was me watching.”

“I guess I’m glad I know, anyway. You and Coulson can start a club for people who watch me and are probably well-meaning and not super-villains.”

“We meet on Tuesdays; we’d invite you but that would be weird,” Clint said, and then continued, “anyway, it’s pouring and I was getting soaked and it felt pretty creepy watching you no matter what Fury wanted, so I decided to move my surveillance indoors. And I brought pizza since you haven’t eaten yet. I promise that’s my last creepy observation for the night.”

“Well, you’re very polite for a peeping Tom, I suppose. Do you just want to watch me eat, or can I get you a slice?”

“I wouldn't say no. I've been out in the rain all afternoon.” Clint said, enjoying the aggravated look on Steve’s face. “Phil says hello, by the way. Also ‘damn it, Barton, what do you think you’re doing?’ but I think that’s just for show since he’s the one who told me to get in out of the rain.“ Clint pulled the communicator out of his ear and tossed it on the table. Steve’s phone started to ring.

“You should get that. It’ll be Phil,” Clint told him, trying to figure out what Steve’s ring tone reminded him of. Then it dawned on him. “You have a land line?”

“It came with the apartment, yeah. “

“SHIELD can’t decide whether to put you in a time capsule or drag you into the future, can they?”

“I thought it was pretty funny, actually. I mean, I have a cell phone, which is apparently fancier than anything actually out on the market, but then they gave me a phone on the wall-which is still higher tech than what I’m used to.”

“Like, rotary?”

“No, like talking to an operator. We had one phone for the whole apartment building. I’m trying to decide whether to let Fury know I can text, too, or wait until I can really surprise him.”

“Wait for it! I’ll never tell. In fact, I’ll pretend you had trouble with the wall phone.”

“Why?”

“Maximum impact when you start e-mailing Fury. Or facephoning him.”

“FaceTime, you mean?”

Clint nodded. “Whatever. I can’t keep up with it all. I just use what they hand me. Or what Stark hands me, which is why I’ve got arrows I’m afraid of now. I saw his lab explode.”

“I was going to ask how living in the tower was, but that tells me all I need to know. It makes me appreciate my neighbor’s loud parties. “

“You haven’t heard a loud party until you've had breakfast with Thor. Which you should sometime, you know. I’m not just saying that because SHILED wants you under our roof. Don’t give me that look.”

Steve gave him a look.

“I mean it; it’s worth watching. He was fascinated with pop-tarts for a week, and then Tony introduced him to toaster strudel, and now Bruce has taught him the finest in Indian cooking. This morning we had curry omelets a la Asgard.”

Steve kept giving him the look.

“They were terrible, but that’s not the point.”

“Phil isn't there, though? I kind of thought, after what happened, he’d move in,” Steve said. “I kind of expected him to leave SHIELD entirely, after,” Steve interrupted himself, not wanting to say after he died and got better and we found out exactly what kind of man Fury was, “after that.”

“Yeah, that. Let’s not mention it. Except, just so you know, the tales of your epic smackdown of Fury afterward are the stuff of legend. Feel free to talk about that. ”

“Yeah, I never did learn how to walk away from a fight. Never did learn to control my temper like I should have,” Steve said, sheepishly.

“Nah, it was awesome and deserved and it’s not like you turn into an actual rage monster so it’s fine.”

“Coulson-Phil- he seems like a good guy. Not that I know him that well. He doesn't talk about himself much. Just sort of swoops in with SHIELD stuff and leaves again.”

“So you've forgiven him for watching you sleep?”

“I have a lot of sympathy for the awkward and geeky. I used to get beat up a lot.”

“I've seen Phil take people out with half a package of powdered donuts. He’s not exactly geeky and awkward.”

“I don’t think combat ability and awkwardness are mutually exclusive. I mean, I took out an alien dragon with a glorified trash can lid, and I’m geeky.” Steve gestured at his sketchpad. “I’m sitting at home on a Friday night drawing funnies.”

“Yes, you are. Is that all of us as monkeys?”

“It might be? It’s kind of a running joke from my USO days. You know, I felt like a performing monkey. So I kind of had to…”

“You kind of had to draw Tony as a chimpanzee? No, I get it. And the Hulk is a gorilla; I totally see where you were going with that. But me as a spider monkey, Steve, really?”

“You climb up high. So do spider monkeys. Don’t read too much into it.”

“So why is Natasha not a spider monkey? Black Widow-spider-get it?”

“Too obvious, Clint, too obvious.”

“Which is why you've drawn her as a giant spider down here? Natasha as Shelob?”

“Shelob?”

“The spider from Lord of the Rings. “

“I don’t know that one,” said Steve.

“Oh, come on, hobbits go out on great adventures, throw a ring into a volcano, run around with giant trees. You have to have read the book at least?”

“The hobbits I remember, but I don’t remember a giant spider, or any of that other stuff.”

Comprehension dawned on Clint’s face. “Wait, those might not have been out yet. Steve! You can totally skip the books because they’re so much better as movies-don’t give me that look! And it will give you something to do that isn't staring at the walls. Which I know you've been doing, because I've been stalking you. Can I look at the rest of these?”

“Yeah, you’re not like a spider monkey at all. Go for it.”

Clint flipped through his sketchbook, quickly thumbing through more Avenger monkeys, a few of Tony as a robot, and one he’s pretty sure is Thor as a golden retriever, before stopping at a simple pencil sketch Steve hadn't quite finished. “Who’s this?”

Steve looked over his shoulder. “Oh. Umm. That’s Peggy,” he half-reached for his sketchpad, and then pulled away.

“She’s hot! Where’d you meet her?”

“We met in boot camp. and she could kick your ass.”

“Oh. She’s… never mind.” Clint studied the sketch for a moment. “Do you know what happened to her?”

“No.” And that was enough answer for Clint. No more pushing.

It wasn’t enough for Steve, though. “She shot at me once. Thought I was cheating on her, I guess. Not that we were serious, really. I barely knew how to talk to her.”

Clint laughed. “She must have thought a lot of you, if you were worth shooting.”

“I guess? I still think she gave me too much credit, if she thought I could attract women like that,” Steve sighed. “I don’t know what she saw in me, either. I was such a scrawny thing.” Steve glanced at Clint, who looked unsurprised at that description.

“Sorry, you came over for pizza. I’m sure you didn't mean to stay and listen to me reminisce,” Steve said, changing the subject. “Next time you can talk,” he joked.

“Or I’ll bring a movie next time. Do you even have a DVD player? You do, I see the box it came in. See, that would have been the first thing I unpacked.”

“I don’t have any DVDs,” Steve shrugged. “And the TV doesn't work anyway, so I didn't think the DVD player would work?”

“Why doesn't it… oh. Your cable box isn't hooked up. You want me to fix it?” Clint asked, kind of hoping the answer was no. Sure, Steve’s setup wasn't as complicated as his was, and all his stuff was new enough that it should just plug in and work, but he’d had to call in Stark to set his up and he didn't want to experience that embarrassment twice.

“If you want to? There’s a schematic in the folder on top, I think.”

Clint found the folder and looked at the diagram, quietly celebrating his good fortune. Somebody-and Clint thought he recognized Stark’s handwriting-had indeed sketched out where all the wires went, and had even color-coded the wires and the plugs to match.

“I think I can handle it. And then you can watch documentaries about yourself.”

“Documentaries? Oh God, tell me you’re kidding,” Steve groaned.

“Nope. The history channel has a Captain America marathon pretty much all the time. There’s like a gazillion conspiracy theories about what happened to you. And now that you’re back, there’s a gazillion more about why the government has a new Captain America. Because, obviously, the idea that you thawed out after 70 years is too far-fetched, but the idea that you’re part of a new army of super-solider clones, that’s completely believable,” Clint answered.

Steve gawked at Clint, disbelieving. “Clones?”

“Clones,” answered Clint. “But my favorite of the conspiracy theories is the one where you crash-landed on the same island as Amelia Earhart, and you two lived out the rest of your lives in some sort of adventurous free love paradise somewhere near Japan.”

“They found Amelia Earhart?”

“No, they found a picture of her, that turned out to be fake, but clearly that’s a conspiracy, and obviously she lived happily ever after on an island somewhere.”

“In Japan? So how did I get to Japan?”

“I think the Bermuda triangle was involved,” Clint answered, pulling himself back from behind the TV. He grabbed the remote and turned it on. “Success! Now you can watch all the horrible TV there is to offer. And Dog Cops. Actually, I've got the first season; we’ll have to get you caught up with Dog Cops.”

“Dog Cops?” Steve asked, dubiously.

“You’ll love it. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll curse at the epic cliff hanger and then we can get started with the second season. And you can’t spoil all the good parts for me, unlike some people I know.” Clint grumbled. “I don’t know how Stark has time to watch TV when I never do.”

“But it’s a show about…dog cops?” Steve asked. “Is that dogs that are cops, or dogs with cops? Are they all dogs?”

“Just wait, you’ll see. It’s awesome.”

“Sure,” said Steve, trying to keep the skepticism out of his voice.

Clint grinned at him. “You’ll see.”

**

A few days later, Steve had to admit he was missing Clint’s company. It wasn't so much the food or the conversation, he told himself. It was just nice to talk to have someone around, especially if his TV was going to malfunction. Steve stared at his television screen, baffled, then reached for the telephone. It rang several times, and he was ready to hang up when Clint answered.

“ Hey, Clint? There’s something wrong with my TV. Or the cable or something, I don’t really know,” Steve sighed apologetically.

“What’s up?”

“Just, this is supposed to be the history channel, but there’s a guy on here saying aliens built the Sphinx? I’m not sure what channel this is, really,” Steve admitted.

“Actually,” Clint started, and then bit his tongue to keep from laughing at Steve. It wasn't really sporting to laugh at the poor guy; he’d missed so much he couldn’t help getting a little confused.

“Oh, wait, is this true? This isn't true. Have there been aliens before the Chitauri? Were there benevolent aliens?” Steve sounded almost excited at the prospect. “I mean, when I was a kid, we all thought it could be true maybe, but that was just because we were reading Burroughs all the time.”

“Burroughs?”

“Princess of Mars? Tarzan? They made a movie of Princess of Mars, I think. Recently, I mean. I kind of thought he was maybe still popular.” Steve sounded kind of disappointed.

“He might be,” Clint reassured him, although he thought for sure he’d remember a movie called “Princess of Mars”. It sounded like exactly the kind of cheesy thing he’d be watching in the middle of the night.

“I mean, Stark says my taste in movies is terrible, but I thought it was amazing. The title was awful, but still.”

“You can’t really fault the movie for that, can you? I mean, this Burroughs guy writes about a Martian princess…”

Steve interrupted, “Well, not really. There’s kind of a princess, but it was really about this guy Carter. He starts out a gold prospector on Earth, but then…”

“Wait, wait! John Carter? Stark’s right, you need to see more movies. That thing was awful.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn't hear that. But what about aliens and the Sphinx? Oh, wait, now they’re saying aliens built the Pentagon. It’s the history channel, though.”

Clint managed to choke out “Hang on. I’m coming to save you from basic cable” before hanging up the phone and dissolving into laughter again.

A few minutes later, Clint was trying to balance two sacks of groceries well enough to manage knocking on Steve’s door. He’d almost admitted defeat when Steve opened the door.

“I thought I heard scuffling out here. I was afraid Ms. Alvarez was trying to break in,” he said, taking one of the bags from Clint. “This isn't pizza!”

“No,it isn't. Coulson spent yesterday guilt-tripping me about feeding you nothing but pizza. I thought I’d cook this time.” Clint carried his bag into the kitchen. “How do you feel about catfish?” he asked, digging through Steve’s cabinets and dragging down a cast iron pan. “You have one of everything in here. Where did this all come from?”

“Agent Coulson brought it over.”

“Coulson? Phil brought you housewares? Why?”

“SHIELD is apparently very committed to helping me ‘acclimate to modern life’.” Steve made finger quotes, rolling his eyes. “I’m not sure why that involves cast iron pans, since Mom had one of those when I was kid and I’m pretty sure they’d been around forever, even then.”

“It doesn't explain the fondue set, either. Nobody has those anymore.” Clint pulled down the set and brandished a tiny fork at Steve. “On the other hand, you’re the only person in the world who can throw a retro 70’s party and a futuristic time travel party at the same time…What?” he asked, as Steve laughed.

“First of all, I’m pretty sure that’s a terribly tacky idea. Secondly, please tell me that’s not a Stark logo etched on the fork.”

Clint looked at the fork, and then at the box the set came in. “Yes. It’s totally a Stark tech fondue set, from the Howard Stark era, no less.”

“Why on Earth would Howard have made a fondue set? Do they double as weapons?”

“I guess they could. I’m sure Natasha could show you how. Oh, look, this must have been a bicentennial souvenir -look at the little flag on the pot.”

“That looks more like a… oh, no. Surely he didn't.” Steve laughed, blushing a little.

“What?”

“It looks like my shield. That jerk.” At Clint’s baffled look, Steve explained, “we had kind of a private joke about fondue.”

“A private joke? About melted cheese? Oh, I get it. ‘Fondue’. That’s a really bizarre 40’s euphemism, isn't it?”

“That was the joke. It wasn't a euphemism.”

“Wait, melted cheese wasn't a euphemism? Steve, you pervert! I can’t know that. Captain America cannot be a pervert with melted cheese and Tony’s dad.” Clint shuddered dramatically.

“No, I mean…Howard said something about fondue, and I thought it was a euphemism, but he actually meant melted cheese. Then when he figured out what I thought he meant, it became a running joke. We’d say… no, you don’t want to know about the shield jokes.”

“No, no I don’t, thanks. I couldn't handle the thought of you and Tony’s dad and melted cheese. But it’s still a little weird. I mean, ’76, he would have thought you were dead, right? So he puts a naughty joke on a fondue pot?” Clint rummaged in the cabinet a little more, “You never answered me, is catfish okay? Otherwise we might have to order in. Steve?”Clint finally turned away from the cabinet, concerned.

“What?”

“Catfish, yes, no?”

“Oh. Yes, I guess? I don’t think I've ever had it before. Sorry. I just hadn't thought about Howard. I mean, for me that was a few months ago. I forget how long it really was.” Steve shook his head as if to clear it.

“Aw, crap, Steve. I didn't mean to remind you of that. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, forget it. Catfish?”

“Catfish. What the hell are these plates?”

“They’re plates. What do you mean, what the hell?”

“They’re granny plates is what they are, Steve. Tell me Coulson didn't pick these out for you.”

“As a matter of fact, he did not. I picked them out. My mother had a set just like them when I was a kid. Her mother gave them to her.”

“So they are, in fact, granny plates,” Clint said triumphantly.

Steve sighed, exasperated. “Yes, technically, they look like my grandmother’s plates. But I like them. I always liked the willow trees. They’re kind of girly, I guess.” Steve shrugged. “I didn't want to get rid of them, but after Mom passed I needed the money. I found these at a second-hand shop, and I thought they’d make the place feel more like home. More real.” Steve sighed, and then smiled sadly at Clint. “And you still haven’t started cooking. I’m going to tell Fury you’re letting me starve to death.”

“Christ, Steve, I’m sorry. Let me just bring up every bad memory you have tonight,” Clint apologized, but Steve interrupted him.

“Don’t worry about it. Although, strictly speaking, I’m pretty sure Fury’s got you here to keep me away from bad memories. So, here again, feed me or I’m telling on you.”

“Fine, fine, I’m dropping it. And where did all that sarcasm come from?”

“Tony was over here the other day, trying to teach me the googles. I think he’s contagious.”

“I’m guessing it didn't go well, the googles?” Clint tried to hide his amusement.

Steve grinned. “No, Coulson went over that with me ages ago. I just like watching Tony get annoyed. He said he’d come by later this week and bring take-out.” Steve stared pointedly at Clint.

“Right, right. Food. Gotcha.” Clint dug around in the grocery bags for a minute. “Crap.”

“What?”

“Well, I remembered to buy catfish, but I forgot to bring corn meal. How’s your pantry?”

“It’s the complete opposite of my gadget drawer. I think I have a bottle of ketchup, and every kind of noodle known to man. And I think I still have a couple of bananas, but they’re pretty ripe.”

Clint eyed the fruit with suspicion. They were well past ripe and into black and rotten, if you asked him. “So, what have you been eating?”

“Spaghetti. Lots of spaghetti.” Steve laughed at Clint’s dismayed expression. “Sometimes I go train at SHIELD, so I have breakfast and lunch at the cafeteria, and for a while there take-out food was showing up at my door every evening- and then for a while I was getting two or three dinners but I think Phil and Tony finally figured that out and worked out a schedule between them.” Steve grinned. “It’s a little embarrassing, but I kind of wanted to see how long it would last.”

“You, sir, are an amazing troll.”

“Thank you? Or take that back, those are fighting words?”

“It’s an internet thing, mostly. It’s when people pretend to be dumb to annoy other people. Or, in your case, when people pretend to be sweet innocent Captain America, purveyor of freedom and apple pie, in order to mooch food. I’m starting to doubt every conversation we've ever had about the history channel.” Clint tried to look disappointed, but the smile creeping onto his face ruined the effect.

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to come clean. Amelia and I were founding members of the mile-high club.” Steve’s serious confession face was much more convincing than Clint had expected.

“I knew it! Now tell Stark that with a straight face next time you see him. I've got money riding on it.”

“What’s my cut?” And wow, Steve’s driving a hard bargain face was also pretty convincing.

“Ten percent,” Clint offered.

“Sounds fair. You get ten, I’ll take ninety.”

“Forty-sixty? Sixty to me?”

“Fifty-fifty, final offer,” Steve responded.

“Deal, “Clint agreed, and they shook on it.

“How much did you bet him, anyway?”

“Twenty bucks if he was right, a quiver-full of exploding arrows if I was,” Clint smirked.

“You know what, never mind about my cut. Jerk,” said Steve, without a trace of real insult. “So, does this mean the catfish is a lie?”

“And now you’re quoting obscure video games at me. Troll. And yes, I think the catfish has to go in your freezer for now. We could order pizza?”

“Or something else,” said Steve, pulling out a folder overflowing with takeout menus. “We have Chinese, Ethiopian, there’s like a hundred Thai places...” he trailed off at Clint’s expression. “What?”

“Let’s just do pizza?” Clint’s expression was tight, but he managed a weak laugh, “it’s tradition, right?”

“Fine, but you’re ordering. They never get it right when I order.”

“How can they mess up a large with everything?” asked Clint.

“I wasn't expecting pineapple, or squid, or tofu,” Steve said. “I was expecting cheese, maybe a little sausage or something. It’s changed.”

“Got it. No weird stuff,” Clint said, finishing up the order. He flipped through the folder and threw out a handful of fliers from vegan pizza joints, as well as one that advertised its specialty as a “deep sea deep dish”. It was a clever gimmick, but Clint couldn't see Steve ever being that adventurous. Debating the merits of vegetables and pineapple on pizza took up the time it took the pizza to arrive, with Clint arguing that pineapple was fine with ham, but other vegetables were suspect, and Steve taking up for black onions. Clint popped in the first disc of Dog Cops while they ate, over Steve’s half-hearted protests.

As the first episode ended, Steve turned to Clint and said, “Speaking of undercover missions, do you want to tell me why you’re really here?”

“What do you mean, why I’m really here? I told you, I’m keeping an eye on you for Coulson, and Fury. I’m mostly doing it for Coulson though, you know. Fury can go to hell,” Clint answered, throwing pizza boxes away and putting their plates in the sink.

“Did you tell Fury that to his face? Because it’s the only reason I can think of that one of SHIELD’s best agents would be on babysitting duty. I’m not that important.”

“You’re Captain America. How do you figure you’re not that important?”

“I don’t think SHIELD’s really worried about anything happening to me. I think they just want to keep tabs on me, and anybody could do that. It just seems like a waste of your skills, not that I don’t appreciate your pizza ordering abilities.”

“I think they’re not real eager to let me use my skills again, after I showed them off so well on the helicarrier,” Clint said darkly. “I’m not sure they’ll ever want those skills again. I don’t really blame them. I know my head’s not on straight,” Clint said, and went on, cutting off Steve’s attempt at an objection. “No, seriously. I’ve gotten better about some of the big things. I can handle Thor talking about his brother, usually. It’s weird little things like Thai food that set me off. That’s not good. I can’t go in the field like that.”

Steve nodded. “I kind of get that. It’s weird, how little things can bring back all kinds of stuff. Do you want to talk about it?”

Clint was quiet for so long that Steve wondered if he’d heard him, until he finally answered, “Phil and I had this running joke about Thai food. We’ve never eaten it together, and he’d always suggest it, you know ‘as soon as this mission’s over, we can hit Thai Palace’, or whatever. “

“And?” prompted Steve, when Clint seemed reluctant to finish the story.

“And I guess you had to be there. It was a stupid joke. I’d tease him about breaking promises, and he’d say it was tradition now. So you said Thai food and I thought of Phil and then all I could think of was watching him die.”

Clint picked up the remote and fiddled with it for a minute. Steve wondered whether Clint had said all he was ready to say, and if changing the subject was going to be as awkward as it felt before Clint continued, “he did that to me, you know, he let me watch what he was doing.”

It took Steve a minute to catch on to what Clint was saying. He had known that Clint had been controlled, but he’d assumed Loki had used Clint as a soldier, merely taking advantage of his talents. This went much deeper, and it implied Loki had known more about their team than Steve thought possible. It was a terrifying thought.

“And at the time, all he let me feel was satisfaction. Job well done. Mission accomplished,“ Clint continued, shaking his head as if to clear it. “So, to answer your question, I have no idea why I’m babysitting you, except that I suspect that you’re supposed to be babysitting me too, which means you make dinner next time.”

“It’s a deal,” agreed Steve, and when Clint didn't seem inclined to continue the conversation, he offered to switch on the next episode of Dog Cops.

“I think I’m going to call it a night, actually. Unless you need me to read you a bedtime story before I go?”

“I appreciate the offer, but no thanks. Are you sure you don’t want to stick around for a while? It’s early yet,” answered Steve. Clint seemed okay, considering the turn the evening had taken, but Steve hated for him to leave right away.

“Yeah. I’m fine, Steve,” he said, answering what Steve hadn't asked. “I’ll be fine. Thanks, though.”

It was another week before Steve saw Clint again, although he’d had a few texts from him. Steve had been more amused than angry at the new SHIELD agent that was blatantly watching his building, and he’d kept Clint up to date on her completely unsubtle attempts to follow him around. He wondered if Clint had finally reported her the day she didn't show up for work, and wasn't at all surprised when Clint showed up that night.

“I brought pizza! What the heck are you doing?” asked Clint, as he walked into Steve’s apartment. Steve looked up from the floor, where he sat in the middle of a spread of paperwork.

“I’m looking into beekeeping. This guy at the farmer’s market told me all about it. Did you know we’re all in danger of starving to death because the bees are dying off?”

“That sounds a little history channel, Steve. Are aliens involved?”

“According to Cas, yes, according to the USDA, no, it’s pesticides. Either way, though, it’s a problem. Do you have any idea how much of our produce is pollinated by bees?” Steve asked, waving a computer print-out at Clint’s head.

Clint took a cautious step back towards the door. “Steve? Steve. You’re starting to scare me, man. I understand needing time to clear your head, but if you’ve resorted to beekeeping, we can find you a mission, or some new colored pencils, or the next Dog Cops DVD.”

“Can’t I take advantage of my reputation as Captain America to make my mission saving the American heartland?”

“Holy hell, what propaganda have you been smoking?”

“The news? And a press release, which somebody somewhere signed off on. I did not realize that the ‘American public’ had a right to know ‘where our heroes are’ in this time of ‘great crisis’. I couldn't make out what the great crisis was, except that the president wants people to have access to medical care and apparently they were against that and they thought I should be too?”

“I…yeah. You might not want to watch that channel anymore. Not that I’m in any way qualified to give you PR advice, but if anyone asks you don’t have an opinion about the healthcare system either.”

“I do, though. I mean, I know what it’s like not to have money for medicine, and I thought they’d have fixed that by now, one way or another.”

Clint shook his head. “Why don’t you give me your opinion on tonight’s pizza order? And you can tell me about bees. And I’ll work on finding something you can do that isn’t bees.”

True to his words, the next evening Clint barged into Steve’s apartment, calling out “I have a great idea!” He seemed to take joy in proving how easily he could pick the lock, even thought Steve had given him a proper copy of his key.

“You have pizza again, Clint. I don’t think that qualifies as a great idea anymore.” Steve said, taking the box from him. He took two plates down and served himself. “I could cook, you now.”

“You have food in the pantry now?” asked Clint, disbelieving. The state of Steve’s pantry, despite all his efforts, had remained disastrous. Clint had never figured out why all Steve had was noodles, but they seemed to be multiplying like rabbits. He had completely given up hope the day he realized Steve had arranged them alphabetically, except for a blank space where he had used up all the penne.

“I found the farmer’s market. And I have bread. I could probably make grilled cheese.”

Clint shuddered. “Yeah, no thanks. I lived on grilled cheese when I was a kid; it was all my brother could make. Well, that, and toast, and he made French toast once, but we didn’t have any milk or eggs, so it didn't really work out.”

“Ah, French toast. I’d never had that until I joined the army. Big thing in Europe, you know. Tricky to make if you don’t have a French toaster.”

“Nice try.”

“No? I have a whole back-story about the invention of the French toaster. It dates back to the French Revolution, and was invented to fix the whole ‘let them eat cake’ debacle.”

“No, Steve. Your earnest falsehoods have no power over me. Which leads me to my next point; have you finished that disk of Dog Cops yet?” asked Clint accusingly.

“Would you believe dogs ate my DVD player?”

“Unless you have photographic evidence of giant red alien dogs, no, and since I didn't get called out on an alien call, even then I probably wouldn't believe you.”

“I've been busy. I drove out to Cas’s place to see his apiary.”

“Taz’s what now?”

“Cas. The bee guy I met at the farmer’s market. I went to his bee farm. I’m rethinking the bee thing now. He’s the only real-life source I have for bee information, and he explained all the regulations to me,” Steve hesitated, “but he’s a little…odd.”

“Is he odd aside from the part where he keeps bees for a living?”

“He lives on some huge farm with a bunch of other people and I’m pretty sure they’re all on dope and when I got out there he was naked sitting on top of a car. And he invited me to an orgy as I was leaving.”

“I’m sure he didn't mean an orgy, Steve. What did he say?”

“He said, ‘hey, I’ll have a new batch of honey ready by Wednesday, come by then and stay for the orgy’.”

Clint didn't have an answer to that. He chewed his pizza thoughtfully, and then said, “Maybe he was joking?”

“I’m pretty sure he wasn't. He had his arms around two naked ladies when I left.”

Clint’s lack of answer became even more profound. He dipped the edge of his crust into the garlic sauce, then said, “Maybe he... no, I got nothing. You found nudist hippy beekeepers, man. Congratulations?”

“So, what was your great idea?”

“Never mind. It doesn't beat nudist beekeeping orgies. I’ll have to come up with something better,” Clint answered, as he ducked the pillow Steve threw at his head.

**

“Honey, I’m home!” called Clint. “You forgot to lock the door.”

“If you brought pizza again, you can just leave. You promised me something better,” said Steve, waving Clint in anyway. “And I didn’t lock the door because you’re starting to scratch it breaking in all the time, ‘honey’.”

“You know you love my pizza, baby,” Clint said, winking at Steve. “Oops. I think your neighbor heard us.”

“Which one?”

“The little old lady watching us from behind her security chain?”

“Oh, if it’s Ms. Alvarez, then it’s fine. She already thinks I’m a drug dealer, maybe she’ll think better of me if I’ve got a steady guy.”

“You’re okay with that? I mean, I’m kidding, Natasha would kill me, and Coulson and Fury right behind me for messing with you, but...”

“Clint, I was a scrawny kid that wanted to be an artist. You’re not the first guy to call me honey. But you’re the first one who bought me dinner, so…”

“I knew it. You just love me for my wallet, which is technically SHIELD’s expense account, by the way.”

“You’re dating me on SHIELD’s dime? You naughty boy!” Steve joked. “I will ignore the implications of Fury buying me pizza.”

“It’s probably for the best, yeah. So, what are you watching?” asked Clint, flopping down on the couch.

“I’m... not sure? It’s not the history channel, but it’s about the battle of New York, and apparently we’re all a government conspiracy?”

“Steve, what have I told you about watching that channel? Everything’s a conspiracy with those people!”

“Well, the part about the government hiding the existence of aliens wasn't exactly unconvincing,” said Steve, ruefully. “It’s actually the only thing that‘s made sense so far.”

“Yes, but do we really think those guys built the pyramids?”

“No, I’m pretty sure these guys are why the pyramids were built. You know, as fortresses, to protect against the giant lizard thing, which is why we haven’t seen them in thousands of years.”

“And Loki brought them back? He’s not Egyptian.” Steve was impressed that Clint didn't flinch at the mention of Loki.

“No, Cap, this is all your fault. If you hadn't gone through the Bermuda Triangle and gotten freaky with Amelia Earhart….”

“We did not ‘get freaky’. Ours was a very loving and meaningful relationship.”

“You’re the one that mentioned the mile-high club.”

“We had a loving and meaningful relationship at five thousand feet. Don’t judge.”

“Speaking of loving and meaningful relationships, can I see your etchings? You promised me artwork.”

Steve side-eyed him, then pulled out his sketchpad. “I’m not really a technical artist, you know. I don’t think these schematics make any sense.”

“They’re better than anything I could have done, and Stark doesn't understand words. You get me. And that’s gorgeous. Oh, baby.”

“You can stop with that any time now.”

“Not you, the bow. That’s perfect! You don’t want to take up bow-making, do you? It’s more profitable that beekeeping, it’s got to be,” Clint said, tracing the curve of the bow on the page, and then aiming an imaginary bow at the wall.

“No, I don’t want to take up bow-making. You’re the only person I know that uses a bow. Lots of people eat honey.”

“What else have you… oh. Me without a shirt on. Well. I did ask for etchings, didn't I?” Clint fluttered his eyelashes at Steve, who looked unimpressed.

“That’s not done yet! You have to draw the musculature under the clothing or it doesn't look right. “

“Well, in that case, I’m flattered. I’m not nearly that buff, man.”

“I’d just drawn Thor. I got stuck on big muscles. You’re welcome. Look at the next page.”

“Not if it’s Thor, or his hammer. It’s …me as a spider monkey again. Jerk.”

“First I’m honey, and then I’m a jerk. You’re so fickle.” Steve turned the page, revealing a completed sketch of Clint as a spider-monkey in full color. “I like that one. I was really proud of his little quiver,” Steve said, smirking as he indicated the quiver size with his fingers. “Cute little thing.”

“Steve, never talk about the size of a man’s quiver. It’s just weird.”

 

**

Clint knocked on Steve's door again, starting to worry. It was possible Steve had gone somewhere, but his motorcycle was still parked around back, and it had been pouring down rain off and on all day. It reminded Clint of the first night he'd come over, although he hadn't had a key to let himself in then.

The living room was completely dark, but there was a light coming from Steve's bedroom. He tapped on the door lightly, and let himself in without waiting for a response. Steve was standing by his window, staring out at nothing in particular. “What’s wrong?”

“Turns out I can’t keep bees after all, because there’s a limit on the number of hives allowed in the neighborhood. Some of my neighbors have already filled that limit. It’s great for the bees, but it kind of ruins that plan.”

“Bummer.”

“Yeah, and that was disappointing, so I went for a run-and then, as you may have noticed, the sky opened up-and when I came home the apartment just felt so empty. I don’t even know why it bothered me so much, it’s just …” Steve trailed off, shrugging.

“It’s raining and you’re having a bad day?” Clint asked, looking around the room. Steve was right, the apartment felt empty. He needed a fern or a ficus or something. The apartment still looked like it did the first night Clint had visited, as though Steve had just unpacked and hadn't found where he’d packed any of his stuff yet.

“Well, when you put it that way,” Steve said.

“It happens, Steve. We all have good days and bad days. Rainy days suck.”

“Yeah,” answered Steve, not really making eye contact with Clint. “I guess so.”

“So, pizza? Or we could go out?” suggested Clint, taking in Steve’s mood. Going out might be the better idea, even if it was raining cats and dogs out there.

“Get whatever you want. I’ m not that hungry.” Steve stared out the window.

That got Clint’s attention. For all his attempts to cook for Steve usually ended in pizza, despite his best efforts to cook for him, he knew that the man knew how to eat. Although Steve humored him by eating the pizza he brought, he knew darn well that he’d usually already had dinner by the time Clint got there, and frequently had a snack before Clint left. And yes, that had led to hobbit jokes once they got around to watching The Lord of the Rings, with Steve being not at all smug that he got that reference and thrilled that there was more to the story than just The Hobbit, although truth be told Steve still liked Bilbo better than Frodo.

“Peggy’s gone,” said Steve, as if he was continuing a conversation.

“What?” asked Clint, trying to catch up. Peggy was his girlfriend, wasn't she? She was the girl who’d kicked Steve’s ass in boot camp. Of course she was gone.

“Peggy’s gone. But I just missed her. She just passed, about a week ago. I missed the funeral. I mean, it was in England, I couldn't have gone anyway, but…”

Clint was right. Peggy was the girlfriend. And, of course, she was gone. Crap.

“She’s got a niece. In SHIELD. Looks a lot like her, I think. Her eyes, maybe,“ Steve continued, like he wasn't really talking to Clint, like he maybe didn't know Clint was even there.

“I’m sorry,” said Clint, but Steve went on.

“Is it awful that I wish I hadn't known? It was easier when I thought they were all gone. I mean, I knew I lost Bucky, and I get the impression the rest of them are gone, but now I wonder. And if I’d just found out a couple of weeks ago…” Steve choked. Clint could see his jaw clenching, his shoulders tightening. Trying not to cry, he thought, and then amended, trying not to break down in front of me.

“Steve,” Clint said, walking over to where he stood at the window. “I’m sorry. It’s okay,” he patted Steve’s shoulder, helplessly. He wasn't in much shape himself to talk about grieving and lost loved ones.

“It’s not ‘okay’,” snapped Steve, and then looked at Clint. Clint was relieved. Anger he could handle, Steve ticked off at him he could handle. Blind grief and staring out of windows, though, that was beyond him. “Christ, Clint, I didn't mean to yell at you.”

“Steve, that wasn't yelling. I've seen you yelling. That was mildly peeved at best. I’m sorry.” Dear God, Clint felt like a broken record but what else did you say? ‘I’m sorry everyone you knew or loved is long dead and you missed a few hundred funerals and also several decades of everything?’ He didn't think that would help here.

“Still, I’m sorry. It just hits me sometimes. I shouldn't be here.”

“Steve? You know if you talk like that I have to make scary phone calls and take you back to SHIELD, right? And I would, too, not because Fury would have my ass, but you’re scaring me.”

“That’s not… I’m here now, I’m not going anywhere. I just kind of wish sometimes… not that I’d stayed down there, but that I wasn’t here, I don’t know. I’m not... I’m not going to kill myself, Clint, God! Quit looking at me like that.”

“Okay, okay, I believe you. I just…aw, crap. Have you talked to your therapist about this?”

“What therapist?”

“The SHIELD appointed therapist that I’m sure SHIELD appointed to you somewhere between thawing you out and the incredibly traumatizing attack of the alien fish dragons? I mean, I’m sure they’re overbooked right now, but …” Clint trailed off at Steve’s blank look, “they didn’t appoint anybody for you, did they?”

“No?”

“Oh, man, heads will roll. Phil’s got a fabulous lecture on the necessity of mental health resources, which, yes, I have heard more than once thank you. But I will sell tickets if he has to deliver it to Fury.”

“I’m not really seeing how talking to someone in SHIELD’s going to help,” Steve said, and Clint would have been amused by Steve’s continued stubborn rejection of all things SHIELD if he hadn't sounded so dejected.

“I’m seeing you getting the really sympathetic and gentle version of the Coulson mental health lecture. That’s version one. Don’t argue with him, versions two to fourteen get progressively worse. At fifteen he threw me over his shoulder and carried me to medical. I’m not kidding. Stop laughing.”

And it wasn't until ‘stop laughing’ that Steve broke a smile, but it was worth it.

“Do I want to know why it took fifteen tries?”

“I was young, stupid, and had a chip on my shoulder the size of Texas. So, like you, pretty much. I might have been a hair more stubborn. And Phil was slightly younger and more stubborn than I was. It’s a wonder he let me live,” Clint said, fiddling with his phone for a second.

“Right, so, therapist. I’m not technically a SHIELD agent, you know.”

“Close enough, I've seen the paperwork. You can make the call, or Coulson can fix this for you, although either way…” Clint looked down at his phone, and smirked.

“He’ll find out?”

“He already knows. He’s spooky that way. In fact, I’m a little surprised he let it go this long. That’s the sort of thing he would have noticed.” He pointed at Steve’s phone on the coffee table. “Check your messages.”

Steve’s phone chirped obligingly. “How did you… oh, look, I have an appointment with mental health tomorrow. Which you had nothing to do with, I’m sure.”

“Nope. I’m sure that was all Phil, based on this message I just got from Phil which says ‘heads will roll’ and then ‘that paperwork went in months ago’. So, I had nothing to do with it. I didn't even know you then,” Clint said, triumphantly.

“Uh-huh.”

“Lecture one, Steve. Don’t let him get to fifteen.”

“It would be worth it to see him try. Don’t tell him that!” said Steve, as he reached to grab Clint’s phone from him.

“Oh, come on. You would deny Phil the joy of a good lecture, would you?” Clint grinned as hit the send key just as Steve managed to wrest the phone from him. “You can probably head him off if you promise to actually go to your appointment.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “You’re not going to drop this, are you?”

“I’m not, and neither will Coulson, now that he knows about it,” said Clint, and his voice was serious as he asked, “So you’ll go, right? And talk?”

“I’ll give it a try,” Steve muttered.

“That’s all I’m asking,” said Clint, flipping the TV on. “Ready for more Dog Cops?”

Steve nodded, grateful for the distraction. “This is supposed to be good one. I think this is the episode where Sarge …”

“Steve! No spoilers!”

**

Steve wasn't surprised when Clint came over early the next day, just after lunch, and stayed until Steve was ready to stumble into bed. They didn't talk much, after Steve confirmed that he’d kept his appointment, and answered Clint’s casual “How’d it go?” with a so-so gesture of his hand. The day after that, though, Clint surprised Steve by bounding into his apartment just after breakfast.

“I have the solution to your bee disappointments!”

“I do too,” Steve answered, no longer bothering to call Clint on his breaking and entering. “I met a very nice older lady at the farmer’s market who keeps bees on her rooftop. She said she needed some help, and she’s willing to trade honey for heavy lifting. I spoke to her for quite some time and she never mentioned dope or orgies so I think I might be safe. Honestly, I got the impression that she was getting tired of beekeeping, so she might let me take over entirely, if I bring her a jar of honey every once in a while!”

Clint shook his head. “I’m still not sure how you went from artist to soldier to beekeeper, but okay. No, I was thinking you should drop beekeeping and get a real pet. You need something to take care of…”

“Have you been talking to my therapist?”

“It’s possible. I've been talking to my therapist. They might be the same person. They should be the same person, actually, if anyone listened to my advice. Which they probably didn't. ”

“Does your therapist think you need a goldfish?”

“No, but apparently yours does, so he and I are in agreement. We should get you a fish.”

“My therapist is a dame. A lady. A woman.” Steve shook his head.

“Not the same one, then. And can you even say two words to her?”

Steve blushed. “I’m getting used to it?”

“If you’re not attached to her, you could switch to someone else. Mine is a grumpy old man, but he knows his stuff.”

“I’d feel weird asking. I mean, it’s a little awkward admitting that Captain America has a hard time talking to a pretty lady doctor.”

“It’s fine. I’ll get Phil to fix it. This is what he exists for, and he can make up something about how it’ll be more conducive to the safety of the Avengers to have only one therapist who knows about our psychological… stuff. But, you know, he’ll use fancy bureaucracy words. And then you can talk to Dr. Burns, who probably won’t suggest you need a goldfish,” Clint finished, skeptically.

“Now you think a goldfish is a bad idea?”

“No, it’s a fabulous idea. I just think it’s a terrible idea coming from a psychiatrist, if even I could come up with it. Come on, we’re taking a field trip to the pet store….what are you doing?”

Steve flipped open his laptop, clicked, frowned, and then clicked on something else. “I’m looking up goldfish care. This says you can’t keep them in a bowl; it’s cruel. Do you think that’s true? I've got room for a tank, I guess, a little one.” Steve clicked on another link and hummed thoughtfully. “This one says you should run the tank for a while before you even get a fish…this is more complicated than bees, Clint.”

“Steve, your problem is you think too much. I know the twentieth century is all overwhelming and stuff, but you don’t have to google everything. What would you have done if you’d wanted a goldfish when you were a kid?”

“Twenty-first century, how old do you think I am? And I have no idea, the thought would have never occurred to me. I think maybe you could win them at fairs? What would you have done?”

“I have no idea. I took care of lions, I never would have wanted a goldfish,” Clint admitted, then reached for his phone. “Right, I’ll help. There’s got to be a pet store on this side of town.”

“You’re determined to get me a goldfish, aren't you? What if I don’t want a goldfish?”

“I will totally get you a beta fish, if you prefer.” Clint looked over Steve’s shoulder and pointed at a picture of the little red and blue fish. “Or some tetras or something, that’s a great color scheme for you. You just can’t have a saltwater fish; I am not starting you down that path.”

“No, I know I don’t want saltwater. I read up on that last night, and as much as I’d like to have a blue-spangled starfish, they’re too much work,” Steve said sarcastically, and then patted a stack of handouts next to him. “It’ll be bad enough when I’m trying to take care of the bees.”

“Oh my God, you have pamphlets. I didn't even know they made pamphlets anymore! ‘On beekeeping’, ‘Urban beekeeping’, ‘Beyond Honey: Profiting from beekeeping’,” Clint read, “’Profiting’? Are you going into business?”

“I’m looking forward to quitting and telling Fury he can mind his own beeswax from now on.”

Clint refused to dignify that with a comment. “Do you really want to get into the lip gloss business?”

“I liked the candle idea better, really. It’s more old school. I could make them with flag stripes. ‘Captain America’s Stars and Stripes Candles’, now available in apple pie and freedom scent.”

“Right, no. We’re getting you a fish,” Clint decided, shrugging his jacket on and heading for the door.

“Did you bring food? I could do with food before we go fishing. It’s not too early for lunch, is it?”

“My god, I've created a monster.”

“I think it’s more training. You know, ring a bell, a dog expects a treat. I've come to expect pizza at the sound of your voice.” Steve was probably joking, but his growling stomach made a lie out of the teasing.

“We’ll have to go out for it, on the way to get you a fish, apparently. Or we could get Chinese or something.”

“Do you want Chinese?” Steve asked.

“Well, no, not unless you do. I want pizza now and apple pie later.”

Steve grinned. “Excellent plan. I’m glad you thought of it.”

**

“Steve, we forgot to get you a fish,” said Clint, once they got back into the apartment and started unpacking everything.

“No, no, we’re fine. I think you missed that part. You were distracted by the store clerk with the...” he made a curvaceous gesture with his hands, “lovely sweater. I’m going to set this up and let it settle for a few days, and then I can add some fish. Maybe some plants first.”

“Maybe we should have gotten you a dog, instead?”

“Good idea now, lousy idea when I go back to being Captain America full time. Who would walk him?”

“Director Fury. Who’s going to take care of your bees?”

“I figured I’d let Cas babysit.”

“Cas the naked hippie?”

“He’s good with bees. Not people, and probably not dogs, but he’s very good with bees.”

“He’s apparently very good with naked ladies, if he’s having orgies every Wednesday.”

“No, Clint. Just no.”

“You know, Ms. Alvarez was watching us the whole time we were bringing in the fish stuff. I’m pretty sure she thinks I’m moving in, now.”

“She does. And she thinks you’re ‘such a nice boy’, and she gave me snickerdoodles for you. Apparently I’m rough looking, but you’re the very picture of a boy scout.”

“Steve! You’ve been holding out on me! You were holding snickerdoodles hostage?”

Steve nodded and pulled out a Tupperware container, waving it over Clint’s head. “Not hostage. I was saving them as payment for helping with this aquarium thing.”

“That’s only valid if Ms. Alvarez wants a guppy. Gimme.”

“So, I’m thinking,” said Steve, after they’d finished setting up his tank.

“Be careful. That’s the leading cause of doing things.”

“Exactly. I’m thinking about taking Tony up on his offer. And I’m thinking about being more actively involved with the Avengers. It isn’t fair to all of you that I’m not doing any of the team stuff.”

“There isn't any team stuff.”

“That is exactly why you need me. Stark means well, but he’s not a leader. And Thor means well, but...”

“Yeah, that was bad. Asgardian team-building exercises just do not work well in New York. You have to admit, though, the Asgardian post-team-building drinking rituals were almost worth it.”

“No, Clint, they weren't. Nothing is worth explaining to New York’s finest why there is a herd of bilgesnipes lose in Central Park. They still have parts of it closed off because of the stench, you know?”

“It wasn't worth it to the park, maybe, but the ale was tasty.” At Steve’s stern look, Clint continued, “All right, I agree with you. Thor meant well, but it was kind of disastrous. So, Captain America’s taking over the Avengers. And probably making us do the dishes and make up a chore schedule or something, yes?”

“I’ll get you all into shape one way or another, before the aliens come back for the Sphinx. Also, please don’t hate me, but…”

“Uh-oh.”

“I finished Dog Cops. The first season. And then I went on to the second season and now I think I’m ahead of you. Unless you've seen the one where Sergeant comes back from the…”

“No! Stop! No spoilers!” but Clint was smiling. In a world where normal meant Captain America was running your team of superheroes while spoiling your favorite TV show, things were finally back to normal.

“Plus, the Avengers tower is far enough away from things that I can have bees!”