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“You know,” America says, head tilted back and eyes trained on the night sky above them. “Loki always said I could throw tanks to the moon.”
She says it with such nonchalance that it startles a laugh out of Kate. The rock she was tossing between her hands falls and bounces off the roof of the 4x4 with a few loud bangs. She hopes it leaves dents.
“Yeah?” They’ve been staring up at the stars for close to two hours now. Laying on top of an armoured four-wheel drive they may or may not have jacked from the academy. Kate’s head is in America’s lap. Their bodies crossed over each other like they’re lying in bed rather than atop ice cold metal in the middle of the desert some two hundred miles from Fury and his wrath.
She can’t remember why America wanted to head out this way. Just that it had been Kate’s idea to steal the car and that America had said it counted as a date. It’s nice too. Out in the desert at night. The heat from it that does it’s best to get into the academy disappears at night and sends the air cool. The lack of light (although, Kate can still make out the glow from the academy) means the sky is lit up with stars that shine brighter than anything she’s used to. There are enough of them that Kate is sure she’s seeing all the sky has to offer and somehow, more. It’s maybe one of the prettier things Kate’s ever seen.
Still, even the stars can’t compare to America with a plan.
Kate grimaces a little. Ugh. She’s starting to sound like Clint.
“Yeah,” America says and Kate remembers they’re having a conversation. She twists a piece of Kate’s dark and too-long hair around her fingers while she thinks. She needs to cut it soon. It’s becoming a safety hazard or something. Kate isn’t entirely convinced Amora hadn’t just said that to fuck with her. “Wanna see if she was right?”
“Where are you gonna get some tanks to chuck at the moon?” It’s not a ‘ no ’ which seems to be all the encouragement America needs.
Kate feels more than sees America let go of her hair. She drums her fingers against the car next to Kate’s head and lets a smile twist her lips up.
“Same place we got a the car.”
Duh . Kate should have thought of that. She’s losing her touch.
-
America Chavez drives like a maniac .
Watching her drive, foot pressing the accelerator down flat, windows down and hair billowing behind her like it’s alive is the closest to a religious experience Kate’s ever going to get. She’s wearing a ratty blue hoodie that used to be Kate’s before America moved in and took a good quarter of her clothes, and a pair of gym shorts. Kate’s going to have a heart attack if America keeps looking like that.
America has a smile so wide it splits her lips in the corners and too many of her teeth show and she’s singing along to the bubblegum pop song blasting from the speakers of a stolen military vehicle. It’s a wonder that Kate remembers enough to raise her laughter to meet America’s in volume.
They race over the dirt road, hit every rock and bump they come across, and head even further from the academy. Fury is going to kill them.
“Hey!” Kate shouts because she has something to say and the adrenaline rushing through her is making her feel like this is her only chance.
America looks over, still driving too fast for the area and still laughing.
“I love you,” Kate says, still loud and still heard over the speakers.
Her smile turns sweet. “Love you more.”
America watches her with a dopey lovesick expression for a few seconds too long in such a fast-moving car. Kate nudges her so she’ll pay attention to the road, empty as it may be.
She’s Kate fucking Bishop, the second and overall better Hawkeye. She will not die in a car crash with her girlfriend because one of them was too busy staring.
The world zips past them in a dark blur. It’s comforting. Gives the impression that they’re back lying under the stars rather than driving into the unknown. Unknown to her, America seems to know where they’re going.
Kate leans forward and presses a button on the radio. It changes to a station playing a song that makes them both cheer when they hear it and she spins the dial so the speakers are playing at max.
“Almost there?” she asks once the song has ended.
“Almost there,” America confirms.
-
They’re back in that big empty span of desert they were in before and America had gotten her hands on an honest to god tank. One of the prototypes Fury was keeping under lock and key at the testing facility a ways away from the academy. Probably in the hopes that it would deter Stark from seeking it out and messing with it.
America puts her hands on her hips and kicks at one of the monstrous tires of the tank.
Fury really should have prepared for more than Stark.
“We really doing this?” Kate asks. She’s got that same feeling swirling in her gut that she used to get sneaking out of the house as a kid. She’s not going to let that feeling go. With that in mind, Kate doesn’t wait for America’s answer before she snaps the band off her wrist and ties her hair into a ponytail.
America scoffs and answers anyway, “Hell yeah we are.”
She dances away from the side of the tank and back to Kate. America grabs her hands, smooths her thumb over Kate’s knuckles and looks deadly serious. It’s such a rapid change in tone that Kate is thrown.
“Whatever happens,” she says. “We go down together.”
The kiss is unexpected. America kisses her sweetly and chastely like this really is the last time they’ll be able to do it. When she pulls back she’s smiling again and that glint is back in her eyes. Kate wonders how unsubtle it’d be if she fanned herself.
America’s hands are also glowing.
“Ready?” she asks, already stalking back over to the tank like she’s off to face an opponent.
“Ready.” The moon is full. An easy target.
America can probably do it.
Kate hears a muttered, “here goes nothing,” and America draws her fist back.
-
“I cannot believe you two!” Fury shouts.
He is, for lack of a better word, furious. Vein throbbing above his eyepatch and everything.
“This is some Barton level shit you’ve given me to deal with.” Fury clenches his hands around the arms of his desk chair hard enough that his knuckles go white. Kate thinks he’s restraining himself. Or, attempting to.
“It’s not that big a deal,” Kate argues because she can't stand being compared to Clint in any way.
Fury seems at a loss for words. Kate shares a look with America who is in a similar position to her left, sitting on one of the purposely uncomfortable plastic chairs in Fury’s office. She tries her best to convey fucking old man into it.
“Not a-” Fury inhales audibly. “You tried to blow up the moon! The moon! That makes you a supervillain.”
“We did not-” Kate cuts herself off and thinks about it for a second and, yeah, they kind of did.
“Why?” Pym asks from where he’s sitting in a small puddle of scientific dispair and massaging the bridge of his nose.
“Wanted to see if I could.” America shrugs and doesn’t seem too concerned. Kate nods when Fury turns a disbelieving eye on her.
“I’m a team player.” Kate swipes a biro from his pen cap when he turns his back on them to regain internal strength or whatever it is he does in these situations.
“I should have let you both get arrested,” he mutters mournfully, probably thinking of what could have been. Then, Fury whirls around and points at them. Something in her snaps to attention and Kate curses basic training for the way her spine straightens at the sight of his thunderous, while also somehow deeply disappointed expression.
“Both of you,” he snaps, “are grounded.”
Kate slumps against her chair while America groans loudly to drown out Fury’s voice as he sets out the parameters of their punishment.