Ch 1
Of all the people Natasha expected to see bounding up the stairs of the bus, a grinning woman in a lime green polo shirt and khaki shorts wasn’t one of them.
“Howdy, folks, who’s ready for a rockin’ and rollin’ weekend of team building?” the woman chirps, only to be met with blank stares from the STRIKE team dressed in identical black tactical uniforms.
“Who the hell are you?” Rumlow demands, hand on his holstered M1911.
“I’m Margo, your fearless leader! And you must be,” she says, looking down at her bedazzled clipboard, “Brock! Great to meet ya!”
“It’s Commander Rumlow,” he says, crossing his arms.
“Oh no sirree, no last names and high-falutin’ titles at Happy Acres, Brock!”
The oblivious enthusiasm radiating off of this woman is enough to convince Natasha to put away her own weapons. Disappointing. She was looking forward to using this new throwing knife in the field.
Rumlow narrows his eyes. “Lady, I don’t know how you know my name, but we ain’t going to Happy Acres, whatever the fuck that is.”
Margo wrinkles her brow. “You are the group from SHIELD here for the fun-filled weekend of teambuilding?”
“Yeah, the STRIKE team survival and interrogation weekend.”
“She said fun-filled,” Clint cuts in. “and teambuilding.”
“Exactly,” Rumlow says. “Nothing brings people together like a torture simulation.”
Natasha nods; the commander has a valid point.
Margo’s face turns pale. “I think there’s been a mistake,” she says.
Rumlow goes outside and Natasha watches from the window as he makes a series of phone calls with increasing levels of yelling and angry gesturing.
Margo, meanwhile, seems to bounce back quickly. She proceeds to take attendance, checking off names with a fluffy pink feather pen and shushing the team for talking among themselves too loudly. Natasha is already starting to lose her patience with this woman.
Finally, the commander snaps the cell phone closed and re-boards.
“Alright, listen up,” he shouts from the front of the bus, getting everyone’s attention. “Apparently they mixed up the reservations for the survival course and the HR department’s annual retreat, and Hill says the payment is non-refundable plus there’s a cancellation fee, so basically,” he pauses to pinch the bridge of his nose, “we’re going to Happy Acres.”
“No way,” Clint says before collapsing into laughter in the seat across from Natasha. The entire bus is soon abuzz with amusement and chatter.
“Hey, no fuckin’ laughing, this ain’t fuckin’ funny!” Rumlow shouts.
“Whoopsies, no swearing at Happy Acres,” chides Margo, who has clearly discovered the bus intercom.
Clint swiftly pulls a camera out of his bag to take a picture of Rumlow’s resulting facial expression. He lunges over the seats to wrestle it out of Clint’s hands, and soon they are scuffling while Martens leads the bus in a chant of “fight, fight, fight” until it is interrupted by an ear-splitting whistle.
“Happy Acres is all about teambuilding and fighting is not how we build teams,” Margo’s voice echoes over the microphone.
Rumlow rolls his eyes but lets go of Clint.
“Whatever,” he says, throwing up his hands. “Let’s just go already. We got about two hours’ drive to this fu—place,” he says. “Rollins, help me figure out this DVD thing.” Rollins gets up from the seat behind Natasha, and the two of them begin fiddling with the bus video player system. Rollins reaches over Rumlow’s head to select a movie from the overhead bin, flipping through the handful of titles for a few moments before making a selection. As he opens the plastic case, the commander looks over his lieutenant’s shoulder.
“Are you fucking kidding me? The Notebook?”
“It’s a good movie,” Rollins says defensively.
“We ain’t watching The goddamn Notebook, motherfucker,” says Rumlow, but Rollins shoves him out of the way, accidentally elbowing Natasha in the process.
Annoyed, Natasha punches Rollins in the ribs and smirks at the resulting groan. But her satisfaction is interrupted by another sharp whistle.
“I said, no swearing and no fighting at Happy Acres,” Margo says, fixing a steely gaze at Rumlow and then Natasha before dramatically twirling her finger and pointing at the back of the bus.
“We’re not even there yet,” Natasha says.
“Happy Acres isn’t just a place, it’s a state of mind,” Margo declares.
Rumlow rolls his eyes again, and Natasha sighs, but they both get up and make their way to the very last row of seats.
“Just think, we could be getting screamed at by ex-Spetsnaz in a mock POW camp right about now,” Rumlow says wistfully, staring off into the distance.
“I know, right?” Natasha agrees. “Happy Acres,” she grumbles, “more like Crappy Acres.”
Rumlow snorts, and there’s a chuckle from her other side. She whips her head around to see Clint settling in on the third seat.
“I got banished, too,” he explains. “She has a Deaf sister. So no swearing in ASL either.”
“Well this sucks,” Natasha says. “Hey, what if we—“
“We cannot kill Margo and bury her in the woods,” says Clint. “Coulson would be sad.”
“Boo you, Hawkeye.” She turns toward Rumlow expectantly.
The commander shakes his head. “Too much paperwork.”
“Fine,” she concedes. “Crappy Acres, here we come,” she said, and leans back in her seat so she can pretend not to watch The Notebook.