Chapter 1
April 1993
Alexei trudges up the stairs after cleaning up the kitchen, it’s one of his responsibilities on the wheel of household chores. Sometimes he thinks Melina dirties a dish just to have him clean it, to make up for the mundanities of suburban American parenting. He certainly had chores as a child, but since becoming Red Guardian oh so many years ago he has fallen out of practice with normal tasks. He had never stayed that long to have a home since he became a super soldier, to have a routine. Always off fighting, more often boosting troop morale, and now playing the average American father and husband in this flyover state. He’s had to learn how to mow the lawn – never in the morning – so the men of the neighborhood don’t question his manhood; how to help with laundry after destroying two of Melina’s bras and Yelena’s princess dress; and how to wash the dishes without breaking one in the process.
It’s been a long day and he’s glad it’s coming to an end. The girls have been bathed, tucked in – hopefully asleep – and he can hear Melina in the shower in the master bathroom. He changes into some sweatpants and a T-shirt and walks into the bathroom. The door is open. He and Melina have become somewhat more comfortable around each other in the time they’ve been in Ohio, a few months shy of a year. Not as comfortable as he would like, but he’s not going to force himself on her no matter what Dreykov has given him liberties to do while they are undercover. (“Have fun with this one, eh, Red Guardian? But bring her back in one piece.”)
It’s not impossible for him to imagine, because he does imagine it almost every day, that they are a long-married couple and the sexual element of their marriage has simply fizzled to nothing. It’s easily imaginable that the drudgeries of marriage and raising two daughters has killed all the spark as he can see in almost every relationship in this Ohio neighborhood, but when he looks at beautiful Melina in one of their unguarded moments he finds it hard to believe, and the fact that he wakes up with a hard-on six days out of seven is more believable.
Despite her head under the shower head, world-class spy Melina is well aware of Alexei’s presence in the bathroom and isn’t fazed at all and starts a conversation with him, “Yelena somehow found a way to get peanut butter in my hair during her bath. So keep an eye out for an open jar of JIF somewhere in the house. She’ll get you, too, when you’re least expecting it.”
“Such a terror, and she hasn’t even begun training.” He jokes.
He’s about to grab his toothbrush when Melina pokes her head out from the shower curtain.
“Did you remember to take the trash out? Pickup is tomorrow.”
He did not remember. He should. It’s a weekly occurrence. He rubs his face and contemplates not taking care of it until morning. Right now, he’s wondering what’s to stop him from buying a more transparent shower curtain next time he’s at the store.
“You won’t remember in the morning, you’ll be too busy with the girls and getting ready for work.” She knows him all too well at this point.
He can hear her amusement when she says, “Red Guardian forward! The trumpet is calling!” Her little laugh echoing off the shower walls does things to him, things he’ll never confess to even under the worst forms of torture. Well, maybe someday to her, but no one else.
He collects the trash from the bathroom and trudges back downstairs to the kitchen, collecting that trash and the recycling, all the while muttering about being the “pride of the Soviet Union.” He even barbarically pounds his chest before opening the garage door and dragging the cans to the curb. He does this all barefoot – the cold pavement doesn’t bother him – and waves to Jim Jenkins across the street performing the same chore. As Jim retreats back to his garage, Alexei uses all his might to slam the cans closed without destroying them, and dares to pose as Red Guardian for the briefest of moments.
“Captain America never had to do this shit,” he mutters as he returns to the garage, closing the door.
Certain now that everything is done downstairs, Alexei returns upstairs to brush his teeth. Melina is drying her hair with a towel, wearing a nightgown, an absolutely boring nightgown that drives him wild.
He brushes his teeth and Melina goes to do the same. It’s all very domestic.
“Iron Maiden, defeated by a little 3-year-old with peanut butter on her hands,” she says to the mirror, to him. She smiles ever so slightly.
He smiles with the toothbrush in his mouth.