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"Too much garlic."
John looks offended. Affronted. Befuddled. His jaw hangs open and he has that little divot between his eyebrows he gets whenever he's upset. Ava has always thought it made his face look weird, but the flour on his face makes it especially comical. "You're high."
Bob snorts a laugh as John brings the pot back over to the stove. John had insisted they have at least one gas stove under threat of bringing in the portable one he uses for camping. Mel was happy to oblige. She even offered to get them restaurant grade utilities if it meant she could get some dinner once in a while (if only when either John or Bucky was cooking).
"Your point?" Bob places a red plus-two card on top of Ava's green one.
"There is no garlic." John tastes the carbonara himself and puts the wooden spoon right back into the sauce. It used to bother Ava and Bucky. Her, because she's a bit of a germaphobe. (Growing up in labs will do that to you.) Bucky, because his bunica would do it and he'd said he didn't like John nearly as much as his bunica to be willing to put up with it. Both reasons were short-lived, however. John's affinity for cooking has long since made up for it. They decided they would suffer the lack of proper hygiene if it meant a home cooked meal. "And there's no such thing as too much garlic."
John does that little head shake reserved specifically for concentrating on a recipe or jumping into a fight. Yelena says John "is like a little puppy" and giggles into her cards, apparently too high to realize she'd been skipped.
"You can't do that." Ava squints angrily to no effect. Bob and Yelena had shared some gummies almost an hour ago and presumably it's finally hit. Since he found out that using any glass made his skin itch, Bob has come to appreciate edibles and happily shares if anyone were to ask. Yelena is really the only one who takes him up on it. Ava likes CBD and might partake once in a while during her flare-ups, but getting high or tripping just felt like half of her was in the quantum realm. Bob says that's the part he likes. That being said, being the sober one while they're like this is an experience John once likened to "herding cats".
"Uh, yeah I can," John says sternly over his shoulder. "There isn't any in the recipe. Relax, you're getting garlic bread."
Ava refrains from rolling her eyes. "Not you, idiot." John mutters something about suffering insults while he's making them all dinner, but Ava ignores him. She points at Bob. "You. Idiot."
Bob blinks slowly. "What?"
"You can't stack plus-twos." It's not that big of a deal, but Ava's had the rules memorized since Bill first bought a deck. Normally, she reads the rules twice after they buy any game, even the ones they don't play. They had both the original Avengers edition of this game, as well as their own. Nobody cared to play them except for Alexei, but she learned those rules, too.
"Yeah you can." Bob squints back at her with a crooked smile that is his attempt at looking smug because he thinks he's right. It looks a little awkward on him, but endearingly so.
"No. You can't." She takes the card off the pile and slides it back to him. He's slow to respond but accepts the card and the reprimand. "You skipped Yelena's turn anyway." Ava gives her the top two cards off of the deck without looking. Yelena is still giggling but takes her cards. They're quite familiar with how Ava can get. "Now it's your turn. It's still green."
"I coulda sworn..." He puts down a green three.
"That's because everybody does it. It's, like, an unofficial rule," John interjects. Ava's about to tell him to butt out when he nudges her hand and sprinkles a bit of pecorino into her open palm. She still glares but accepts the offering as an apology. Throwing her head back, she pours it all onto her tongue. It's fresh, which means it's softer, but she likes it that way. She moans at the smooth taste instead of thanking him verbally.
"Hey, I want cheese," Yelena says. When she's high, her voice somehow maintains the deep vocal fry while also dancing between melodic higher notes. It's cute, except for when she's whining. They exchange glares as Ava licks the rest from her palm.
"You two had your treats earlier." John places a stack of plates and bowls on the table and hands Ava the silverware. He knows she's as particular about utensil placement as she is about rules.
Bob begins clearing the table. Ava gives him her hand so he can place it on the side table near the couch. If Beavis and Butthead can stay awake, they'll continue after dinner. Ava doesn't keep her hopes up.
Bob reaches for Yelena's hand when she pouts dramatically and folds her arms awkwardly to keep her cards organized in a neat fan. "No fair. You know this is best time for munchies." Bob gently tugs the cards from her and keeps them fanned out as she likes before putting them aside. She whispers a quiet "Thank you, B," before remembering she's pretending to be mad. Ava hands her the bowls so she can scowl while at least helping set the table.
John brings over a giant bowl of hand-made pasta, a smaller bowl of carbonara, and a basket of garlic bread balanced on his forearm. His extent of cooking classes began and ended with something called home ec., but they all swear down he would have thrived in the restaurant industry.
"Woulda had to move to France. Somewhere in Europe. Not a lot of restauranteering in the states unless you start selling cookbooks. And you have to make a bunch of appearances and shit. Turn a profit."
"The beauty of capitalism," Ava said with a sneer. John groaned - the distinct groan that indicated a suffering artist. Specifically, one that had also become disillusioned with the limelight.
"I could see it. Captain France." Bucky easily caught the fork John threw at him.
"Fine Dining with Captain France." Ava managed to dodge the towel whipped at pointblank range.
"Fine? I think you have excellent culinary skills, John." Alexei had been practicing his dad jokes, thus he ’ d been forgiven for his transgression.
"Firf ofvall-" John tears off the rest of the garlic bread and begins to talk with his bite tucked in his cheek, covering his mouth with a bent wrist. "First of all, I only smoke when I'm cooking. I'm already making my own munchies by that point." Yet again, Ava is about to complain about his etiquette when John stuffs the bread directly into her mouth. She grimaces, but quickly realizes it was the part of the bread untouched by his bite.
Yelena, truly distraught, stabbing her entire hand at them like the accusation required more fingers. She’s going to get arthritis. Somehow she always gets more animated when she’s high. "You play favourites!"
"Second of all, if you made dinner, you'd understand just how annoying y'all can get when you're high."
"Y'all," Bob intones as if he's not from Florida. He somehow manages to duck the towel John subtly flicks at him before throwing it onto his shoulder. The man was somehow both less and more irritable when he was cooking. Far less yelling, far more combative. Once, he nearly wrestled Alexei into submission when he’d caught the man hungover, trying to drink straight from the carton. Luckily, Bob had shown up with more groceries before they could break anything.
He unties his apron and hangs it on the hook next to the fridge, dangerously close to the knives block. “Third, I don't play favourites. I’m feeding all of you, aren’t I?”
"Чушь собачья," Yelena grumbles.
"Gesundheit." John's past the point of looking up translations. Bob will sometimes translate, just to annoy him. He's actually learning the language in hopes of becoming a polyglot. Ava helps him with his Rioplatense, but she only knows conversational Russian and some curse words.
Yelena walks over to the cabinet and starts tossing glasses to Bob. He catches one - just barely. John and Ava dive for the others before they hit the floor. "And I make dinner!"
"Well, you order-," Bob starts when Yelena gawks at him, betrayed. "I'm not complaining! Totally love Joe's Pizza. Their pizza guy is cool."
"Lena! Light of my life!" Alexei says in lieu of actually greeting them upon his boisterous entrance. He smells of aftershave and new leather, but no more than usual. "Please. Leave cooking to others. Your strengths lie elsewhere. Like welding! You are so good at the welding and soldering."
Yelena nearly throws a glass at him, making him flinch (as if it would even hurt) but Ava stops her with a look. The look is weakened from the garlic bread still hanging from her mouth, but it's sufficient. Yelena hands her the glass. She’s already broken quite a few in the past from just tossing them to Bob.
John sits and sighs, "Where's Bucky?" Ava hands him an energy drink and he thanks her quietly. The warmth of his fingers in contrast to the coldness of the can lingers for a second. Not that she notices or anything.
"Says to start without him. Is going over questions with Mel for press conference tomorrow." Alexei is already retrieving tupperware from a lower cabinet near the sink. "Start without me" usually means "save me some leftovers" during press weeks. Ava refuses to use tupperware once the plastic has stained. John says they could always invest in glass containers, but there's enough breakable kitchenware as is. They should probably restock the main kitchen soon.
John scoops pasta into one container and sauce into another. "He'll have to make his own bread. Never reheats right."
"Did you prepare, Ми́шка?" Alexei asks Yelena pointedly, fully aware of her answer.
She shrugs. "I think I can just," she gestures inarticulately, her hand gliding out like a stone skipping on the water, "wing it. I am better improvising, you know?" There's a notable silence. Bob scrunches his face in soft doubt. She drops into her chair dramatically, each appendage at an odd angle like a starfish. Her eyes roll over to Alexei. "Fine. I study after. But you are helping me." It wouldn't be expected just looking at him, but he's is quite good at playing the hard-hitting journalist. Something about the years of experience. Or maybe it's just the very direct Russian way of speaking - no mincing words when he gets serious.
Wait a second.
Ava tries not to pout. "Does that mean we aren't finishing Uno?"
John leans his chair back and grabs a pen from the counter. He scribbles something down on a napkin and hands it to Ava. '+2' "Oh, go fuck yourself." She regrets ever agreeing that even saying it in a sentence while a game is ongoing invokes this stupid fucking rule.
Bob is choking on his pasta as he laughs. Alexei pats him on the back, which probably only worsens the coughing. Yelena snickers and sticks her tongue out at Ava. So, Ava does the mature thing and crumples up the napkin and throws it at her.
She easily swats it from the air and is about to use her spoon to sling sauce in retaliation when John blocks her arm from following through. "Don't even fuckin' try it."
Ava sticks her tongue out this time, making her scoff, openly scandalized. "Favourites! See?"
Ava doesn't even dignify Yelena with a glare. "Not his favourite."
Alexei quietly hums something of a curious note before being cut off by a soft thump under the table that makes him suck in a breath. John sucks his teeth, but doesn’t say anything.
"You want Lena's spot?" Bob asks John in an airy tone. Yelena nabs his garlic bread. It's clear the high has probably hit its peak, as he is almost completely absorbed in the process of twirling pasta around his fork. He'd let her have it anyway.
"I'll think about it." That's as good as a yes.
"Uh oh." Alexei swipes some carbonara from his mustache and licks it off. "Only one that can match the notoriously competitive Ghost in depth of passionate fury is the great U.S.Agent." Alexei either speaks like he refuses to learn the language or as verbose as a poet with a word quota. There is no in-between.
"He only gets like that because he doesn't understand the rules." A steady glare meets hers from across the table. "And he sucks at playing." She's laughing snidely when he feigns slinging carbonara at her, making her flinch. "Don't you fucking dare."
"I wouldn't." She points a fork at him menacingly and he smirks. "I wouldn't! I swear." He purposely slurps up a noodle like a child. "Would be a waste of good food." Alexei’s legs are stretched out under the table, inadvertently protecting John’s.
"Bitch."
"'Least I'm house trained." He covers his mouth as if still chewing, but she knows better. His eyes do this weird thing when he's amused, as opposed to when he's faking it for camera. It's hard for her to put words to what it looks like.
She holds back the laugh that plays on her lips and covers her grin with a napkin. "They did warn us. Trained, but prone to misbehaving."
"Woof." Little wrinkles form next to his eyes. Ava arches an eyebrow.
Yelena looks between the both of them, pasta hanging from her lips onto the plate, and says, "Wight in hront ov my fawad?" Bob none-too-subtly starts choking again.
"Jesus, stop referencing your stupid memes." John rolls his eyes and glares at them, the wrinkles at the corners disappearing. Suddenly, she decides her garlic bread requires concentrated tearing into many small pieces. It makes it last longer anyway.
"Is she wrong?" Bob says with a small smirk, mouth also full. Ava isn't sure if he or Yelena is a worse influence on the other. It varies by day.
John at least covers his mouth when he says, around a mouthful of pasta, “Would you believe me if I said yes?” It's accusatory, which is just about as effective as he's come to expect.
Yelena ponders for a moment. "No. Not at all. I would know you are lying." He gives her a sardonic smile. Yelena responds in turn.
“Besides. She is chronically offline.” Yelena says this with the self-assured bravado that one has when they’ve only just learned the term today.
Bob says in plain English, “Memes don’t always translate.”
“She knows how to use a search engine.” Just because she doesn’t live with her eyes glued to her phone doesn’t mean she isn’t familiar with technology. She’d just rather spend her time with important things, like pro-wrestling and video essays on books she’s never read, nor plans on reading.
John almost chokes. “You look 'em up?”
The slight widening of his eyes concerns her. She doesn't ask. Just squints at him briefly, then goes back to scooping a hefty amount of pasta onto another piece of bread from the basket. "No." She doesn't say it's because she's afraid to find out what exactly Yelena and Bob are getting at when they say those things. It's because she just doesn't care enough.
Bob nods sagely. "Probably for the best. Saves you the burden." Of what, she’s not sure, but she’ll take his word for it.
"Bob can show you Reddit!" Yelena leans forward excitedly. “There is a page- nothing but pictures of mirrors people are selling. They don’t realize they are in the reflection. Is hilarious.”
"Thanks, but no thanks. You can show Alexei. He might finally read something that isn’t just an article about us."
The man in question flicks up his sports sunglasses he insists on wearing at all times to 'match the fit'. "You wound me, Баба Яга."
"You’d better mean that in a nice way," she says sternly and with absolutely no unsure upturn at the end. It’s not like she has any underlying insecurities regarding how someone might view her. Surely.
He gives her his on-camera smile and a thumbs-up before a humourous growl tumbles from his chest and the expression is replaced with something far more genuine. "Of course! I have nothing but deep respect for the Terror in the Woods." He places a gentle hand on her shoulder and gestures her to clink glasses with him.
His ability to 'turn it on' is the reason why Bucky brings him to all of the meetings with Mel and the PR team in the first place. Yelena can give good face and some really solid quotes, but Alexei knows how to schmooze. He might get lost in the facade of it all sometimes, but behind the glitz and glamour, they know he’s still a big softy.
“Ooh, I like that one.” When they cheers, he readjusts his sunglasses, knocks his shot glass onto the table, and slams it back. She’s drinking an energy drink, but she does take a few large gulps. The stinging in her nose causes her to scrunch it briefly. “Which reminds me, we have to finish Apostle.”
“Haven't you already seen it? We can watch something else if you want.” Bob is still captivated by dinner, using the bit of garlic bread Yelena gave back to him to swipe up any carbonara on the sides of the bowl.
"It’s not like it’s a chore watching Dan Stevens writhing around with his shirt off." Bob snorts. Though she’s never met the man, she is a little proud to technically be from the same place. Avoiding being constantly in the public eye is common with the English. Ava unfortunately no longer has the luxury.
Alexei raises his eyebrows as he peers at her over his sunglasses. He rubs a hand on top of his shaved head. His smile is too much like Yelena’s. “It appears you have a- what is it called? Font? No, no. A ty- ow!” She doesn't give a damn about the half-ass attempt at a dad joke. Besides, she only kicked him. The man has tanked falling buildings – he's playing it up because the other side of the table has turned away from them.
"Мудак.”
"Ava! Words hurt, you know,” he chuckles softly as he pours her less than half a shot as a truce. He tops it up with her energy drink.
“So I've heard.” She glares, but they toast and down the shots anyway.
Alexei inspects his leg dramatically, grumbling, “Do I bleed? Agh! Son of bitch." She smirks. “What? The Americans always want to know curses, so I learn American curses. Turnabout is fair play, you know.”
He watches her for a moment out of the corner of his eye. There’s a glimmer there, like he thinks he knows something. Ava ignores him and eats in silence. He doesn’t know a damn thing – and even if he does, no he doesn’t. And he’s been good at keeping his mouth shut about it because he knows what’s good for him. She doesn’t need his encouragement to go after it, or his pity when he realizes it’s a hopeless cause. The gold may be put away but she’s not stupid enough to disrespect either side of it by trying.
Christ, she’s getting maudlin. She doesn’t take the shot next time he offers it.
Alexei has persuaded her into helping him convince Val that renovating one of the lower floors into a home theatre is good for morale and she's down to her last forkful of pasta when she overhears the other side of the table having their own discussion. Their voices are pitched down in a bid to avoid detection. However, John’s voice carries. He says something about how “you totally can, she’s got no ground to stand on.” Yelena notices her noticing and makes the universal face indicating she wants no part in what's about to happen. She subtly grabs some dishes and takes them to the sink, clearing the table of weapons.
“No. You fucking can't. You fucking fucknut." She spins her fork into prime stabbing position. “The rules clearly state-”
John scoffs. “Yeah, you can.” Bob raises his hands in surrender and takes a few more dishes.
Alexei gently pulls the fork from her hand and picks up her bowl. It’s not like she’d actually do anything – unlike some people, Ava’s never thrown a single dish whilst living here, out of either convenience or anger. But they’re cleaning up, so she lets it happen.
She stands abruptly. “Do you want me to pull up the rules?” She takes the cleaner and towel Bob walks over with and waves him away. Normally he’s fine, but she knows he’s likely to miss some spots right now. Ava’s also the only one who wipes down all of the chairs. It doesn’t matter that they all stay to their own unofficially claimed seats, everything gets dirty over time.
“No need! I already did.” He puts his phone on the table and gets up, giving her room to clean. She glances down to read it and-…
‘Two & Four Players’.
Not ‘Two to Four’.
It's unsurprising to look up and see his chuffed fucking face far too close to hers. She feels warmth blooming on her cheeks. From pure, unadulterated rage, obviously.
She can feel her lips pinch in annoyance. “I spent my whole life playing against one person. You can hardly hold it against me that I remember some stupid rules differently.”
“Oh, don’t give me that. Don’t try to guilt-trip me!”
She ignores him.
Bob turns on the dishwasher and leans against it, trying to look nonchalant. “I think I wanna finish the movie. Can we start it over, though?” He knows better than to continue a game when they’re both already at each others throats. Shortly after moving in, Bob decided to practice diffusing situations. And they’re all better for it.
“Sure, B,” Ava says, walking around John to continue wiping down the chairs as he tries get her to look at him. It's like he enjoys pissing her off.
“C’mon. Aren’t we supposed to be working on this?” He’s one to bloody talk! She glares at him. His face softens, but just barely. It was Bucky’s idea in the first place. John’s no authority on the matter.
“Here, I’ll go first.” He follows her. He pushes in the chairs to look uniform once she's cleaned them. “I’m sorry I’m better at playing Uno.”
She pushes and jabs at him and he pretends it hurts. She spots the pen from earlier and snatches it along with his hand. On the back of it, she carefully writes out ‘+2’, trying to not dig into his skin so the lines don’t skip. He pretends to be upset, and she pretends he didn’t say it on purpose. “I’m sorry I called you a fucking fucknut.” Her voice is tight, but genuine. She looks up and his face is still too close and hers is still too red. She flips his hand and smacks the pen into his palm. His fingers wrap around hers. “But you’re still a twat.” She pulls away. Again, with the lingering warmth. Everything about him is infuriating.
Their proximity is suffocating and so she pushes past him and puts the cleaner and towel away in the lower cabinet next to the trash. They’re going to need more trash bags soon, too. She rinses her hands. He's right behind her. The man radiates like a damn furnace. Turning the corner, she sees Bob leaning patiently against the wall swiping along on his phone.
Ava huffs a sigh, forcing her stomach to unclench. “Apostle?”
He gives her his dopey smile as his head bobbles up and down, showing her the bags of salt and vinegar chips (for her) and gummy little cola-bottles (for him) he's acquired from the cupboard. He’s truly the best thing to have happened to this team- city-swallowing incidents aside.
“Can I join?” John calls out from the kitchen.
Her swift “no” comes out the same time Bob says “Sure, man.” She sighs. They’re watching in his room since he has a projector Bucky bought him for his birthday, so, really, she has no say in who does or does not enter. They make their way down the hall. Bob bumps his shoulder with hers, and she does it back.
“I’m gonna make popcorn.” Of course he is. Bloody twat. She’s just going to eat half of his popcorn in retaliation for the chips he’s going to steal.
Breathe in. Breathe out. “We’re starting without you.” He’s already watched it with her once before, so he already knows the exposition.
When Ava and Bob are far enough away, Alexei licks the tip of what's left of his wittled-down No. 2 pencil like that does anything. He jots something down in his tiny flip notebook filled with questions all the nosiest members of the press tend to ask. “Я сбита с толку, знаешь об этом?”
Yelena shrugs. “Они оба сумасшедшие.” She stretches to cover as much of the couch as possible.
“Иди в баню.” John refuses to look at them. He has no idea what they said, but he is damn sure their faces are worth the time he wasted trying to memorize how to say 'get lost' in an ass-backwards language. But if he looks at them, they’ll figure out it’s one of only, like, three things he’s bothered to learn. Maybe they’ll learn to mind their business.