Work Text:
Steve told Natasha about the pre-WWII Brooklyn photography exhibit, eyes bright and with that half-smile he always wore when talking about his past. Though she was certain he’d already told James about it, she mentioned it to him when she got home.
“Yeah, Steve couldn’t stop talking about it,” James said, not looking up from the potatoes he was peeling.
“Don’t you want to go?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Old black and white photos always makes it seem like it was so long ago.”
“You mean it’s not?”
He side-eyed her, but kept peeling the potatoes.
Stepping up behind him, she wrapped her arms around him, and leaned her head against his back. “Don’t worry, I still love you, old man.”
“You’re not that much younger yourself.”
“No, but I don’t talk like an old grump, so I have that going for me.”
“If I agree to go, will you stop bugging me?”
She did, and they went the next day.
It was a big exhibit, press photos and private ones alike, all displaying the daily lives of the people of Brooklyn. Right from the start James would point to some of them, telling her about how the owner of the ice cream parlor was the most resentful man he’d ever met, but the ice so good they kept returning; or how the corner of that block was where he’d realized that Steve wasn’t just being picked on, but such a troublemaker himself. As they walked on he became more and more silent. She watched him out of the corner on her eyes, trying to give him some kind of privacy. He had an almost wistful expression on this face looking at the pictures. She couldn’t remember feeling nostalgic about a place ever in her life.
“Do you ever wish that you could go back home?” she asked after a while.
He seemed almost bemused by the question, frowning at her. “This isn’t home. These are just… places I’ve been. Sure they remind me of things that happened, like how I saved Steve from getting his ass kicked in that alley. Well, in most of the alleys you see here. Home’s not a time and a place. Home is…” He stared blankly at the pictures. “Home is my ma’s cookies, and Steve complaining. Home is waking up next to you. Home is a feeling and a smell.” He pulled her closer to him, breathing in deeply. “You make me feel like I’m home again.”
She reached up and kissed him. Because what else could she do?