Work Text:
Steve Rogers sighed heavily as Bucky translated the message over the loudspeaker.
“They're evacuating the airport.”
“They're coming for us.” Wanda Maximoff was just a kid to Steve, and right now she looked painfully young to him.
“OK gang, time to suit up.” He gave Wanda what he hoped was a comforting pat on the shoulder. Bags full of gear and weapons and high tech body armor emerged from the tiny Volkswagen and the rear cargo area of the van that Hawkeye “borrowed” from some construction site. Bucky and Sam have already stripped off their shirts and are trying to outdo each other with some not so subtle flexing of muscles. Steve merely rolled his eyes at the locker room antics and pulled his t-shirt and undershirt off in one movement, barely shivering in the chilly morning air.
Wanda stood by the open van, shifting restlessly as she grabbed her red vest and jacket from her bag. She shouldn't let it matter; these are her teammates, but she couldn't prevent her jaw dropping a bit when the men surrounding her started pulling off their clothes. She glanced at Clint, but he was busy grabbing the discarded clothes and shoving them into duffel bags since he was already dressed.
“Hey, don't lose track of that, it's my favorite shirt.” Scott Lang tried to keep his shirt in sight as he stretched the Ant Man suit over his head.
The other guys snickered and Steve suddenly noticed Wanda standing there.
“Guys, about face. Give the lady a bit of privacy.”
Wanda laughed. He was still so old-fashioned sometimes.
“Don't worry about it, no big deal…” her words trailed into silence as five broad, muscular backs are turned to her, so as an extra courtesy she also turned her back.
There are a lot of quiet rustling sounds (and a few muttered curses) as zippers are zipped, buckles are fastened, straps are tightened. Covert glances in the reflective glass of the windows revealed Sam shrugging into the wing harness, fiddling with the holsters at his sides. The man with the metal arm, the one Steve called Bucky, pulled a black jacket over his shoulders, buckling it across his chest. His movements are methodical, almost hypnotic and she had to force her eyes away from him. Clint walked among the group, scooping up sneakers and belts and ballcaps, trying to keep everyone’s stuff together. She chuckled a little as she saw Scott’s favorite shirt get folded into Bucky's hooded sweatshirt. That was going to be amusing later, trying to picture the massive shoulders of the former Hydra assassin squeezed into the slimmer Lang's shirt. She managed to get the Kevlar enhanced vest buckled up. She had to give Tony points, all this high tech tactical gear certainly had style. The boots were still a pain to get into though.
Bucky turned around to ostensibly grab extra ammo, but Steve saw his eyes slide over to where Wanda was buckling her boots, bent at the waist, with her hair falling over her shoulder. He caught his best friend's eye in a sideways glance and for just a moment, it's the old Bucky with a smirk and an eye for the pretty girls. He whispered so that no one else can hear “C’mon man, she's maybe twenty-two.” Bucky just grinned and winked at Steve. After all, it's been awhile since he'd been near a woman that wasn't his target.
Wanda folded her clothes carefully, placing them in her duffel bag. Clint sidled up next to her, hip checking her as he stowed the other bags in the rear of the van. “By the way, I saw that.”
Her gaze met his, alarmed, and then slid down and away. “Saw what? You saw nothing.”
“You were checking out Cap and Metal Man. Sly girl.”
Wanda felt the embarrassed flush spill over her cheeks in a wave of heat. Clint was obnoxiously observant sometimes.
“Well I don't think you can blame me, you’ve seen them.”
Clint scowled slightly, “They're too old for you.”
“Whatever, Clint. They didn't see it, so let's just pretend it never happened.” She rolled her shoulders to loosen the tension, trying to shake off the feeling that her world; the one she'd built since she left Sokovia, was about to change in a permanent way.
Several Hours Later...
The battle was over, not won. They had fought their friends to a stalemate that ended in a tactical retreat. Steve piloted the small jet to a safe house in England. The cottage was a little stuffy and damp, but it would do for them until they could figure out the next steps. He turned on a few lights while the others filed in slowly, dragging their feet in exhaustion. Clint disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a bottle of whiskey, which he took a hearty slug from before passing it to Wanda, who took a sip and passed it to Bucky, smiling as he accepted it before she moved away to the other side of the room.
It's a slower process, peeling off the pieces. It seemed like it should be faster but it wasn't. Each twist, each pull revealed a muscle strain, a fresh bruise, or laceration still sluggishly bleeding.Wanda can tell Scott was nursing a broken rib, if the way his breath hitched on the intake is any indication. Steve and Bucky seem to be in the best shape. Steve balanced on one foot pulling his boot off, but his balance was a bit off and he wobbled precariously. Sam and Bucky silently braced the taller man from either side until he got both of them off. Bucky looked tired though, as he shrugged on a t-shirt. He picked up a button down shirt, looked at it quizzically, but started to pull it on. Wanda hid a smile, because she knew what was going to happen. Sure enough, the sound of fabric tearing fills the room and everyone glances around.
“What the hell? Dude, that was my shirt!” Never let be said that Lang missed the obvious.
“Sorry, it was with my stuff.”
“You didn't notice that it wasn't yours?”
“Well, I've spent the last fifty years being brainwashed by Hydra until I don't remember my own name, so not remembering a shirt...not really gonna register. “
Scott closed his mouth without another word. Bucky handed him the remains of the shirt. To be fair, he did seem to feel genuinely contrite about the damaged clothing, at least until he caught her eye and sent her a mischievous wink.
“So, do we get reimbursed for this stuff?” Lang asked as he pulled the button down shirt on; shaking his head at the vertical rip down the back. Clint picked that moment to walk back into the room, chuckling at the morose expression on Scott's face.
“What happened to your shirt, man?”
Scott just pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.
“Do we have an expense account for these things? Can I give someone my receipts?”
Sam laughed, or maybe snorted from across the room.
“You do realize this is the half of the Avengers with no money, right?”
Scott pulled off the shirt and dropped it back in his bag.
“Man, I chose the wrong side.”
Bucky grabbed the small backpack he carried everywhere and pulled out a banded stack of currency. Tossing it at Scott, he grinned while the others stared at him as though he'd lifted Thor's hammer.
Sam was the first to recover, picking up the money off the floor.
“That's easily a thousand dollars. Is that what you've had in that bag this whole time?”
Bucky just smiled. “Yeah, that and a few plums.”