The Last Great American Dynasty
While it was not the first time Natasha had ever woken sprawled floor of a skyscraper’s penthouse apartment with a thousand dollar mud-mask moisturizing her face and two hot blondes sprawled atop her, this version of the classic experience definitely made the top three, top two even. If not for the immediate lack of bombs and gunfire hurtling towards her alone, then certainly for the company.
She punches Clint in the ribs until he groans and rolls off her, and then gently extricates herself from under Thor’s tangle of koalaing limbs. Natasha isn’t one for physical touch, especially from near-strangers, but there was something so completely disarming about Thor’s presence, like a giant golden retriever or a general himbo, as Bruce, who’s currently pinned under Thor’s other arm, could attest.
Clint pouted, shaking his leg free from Tony’s unconscious grip. “Why does he get a polite shimmy and I get a good morning violent physical assault?”
Natasha beamed her prettiest, most could-do-no-wrong damsel-in-distress smile. “Seems I just have a new best friend now.”
“Don’t even joke, Tasha, it’s cruel and unusual to toy with a man’s emotions in such a way. New best friends, I scoff."
“Oh don’t be so ludicrous, Clinton, men don’t have feelings.”
Natasha rolled her eyes, stepping away from the sprawling Pile O’ Boys and wandering off in search of “a beverage”. With the company asleep, now would be an opportune moment to sift through Tony’s tech and belongings for answers on his connection to Coulson, but instead, she found herself standing before one Pepper Potts.
Even better, Natasha thought, before quickly reprimanding herself, I mean, oh no! A dastardly female!
“Ms. Rushman, what a pleasant surprise.” Pepper smiled. “Please, sit.”
“Dear God, have I accidentally stumbled upon a business meeting on this fine morning?”
“No, only breakfast.” Pepper offered her a lukewarm coffee and a blueberry muffin. “I suppose this is what I get for expecting Tony Stark to be at all awake on a Saturday. At this point, I just feed Bruce and hope Tony doesn’t starve to death. I think vodka has some nutritional value. And tequila is technically made from vegetables. Well, succulents, but close enough.”
“I watched Clint eat a succulent once.” Nat offered helpfully.
Pepper laughed, and for a moment, Natasha understood all the awful poetry written by men comparing women’s laughter to the tinkling of bells and sweet melodies and silvery wind chimes. “Then you understand my plight: the idiocy of men. To misandry”
Natasha should keep Pepper talking on the subject of Tony, but she simply can’t be bothered. God forbid Pepper suspected she had ulterior motives, or even worse, heterosexually assumed Natasha has… romantic feelings for Tony Stark. A teenage girl with a silly crush would be a near-impenetrable cover, but no matter how proficient her spy abilities may be, the very notion of pretending to fawn over Stark sent her stomach swirling with nausea. As if.
Instead hummed her agreement, clinking her styrofoam cup against Pepper's in solidarity. “To misandry. It isn’t real, but with enough hard work, hopefully, someday it will be.”
“Well, on the subject of women, it seems after Thursday, I owe you a meal in return.”
“An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a bag of noodles for a plate of sushi? Or perhaps Mediterranean.“
She considered the possibility of establishing her lack of interesting men, perhaps tossing out a casual let’s listen to some Hozier or how about a picnic or perhaps even a subtle the male form greatly sickens me, but eventually decided against it. Pepper would either recognize her mountains of queer energy as all members of the community do, a true gaydar if you will, or this entire scheme would fall apart and Natasha would operate under another false name halfway across the globe. Truly, what was the rush to catalyze either likely scenario?
“I’m a big fan of sushi, massive even, and a new restaurant just opened on the Upper East Side. The prices should make my broke college student head spin, but the Stark Industry’s Platinum Card is just begging for use. Tony never minds as long as I listen to his stand-up comedy routine.”
“Great.” Natasha reaches for the blueberry muffin, fingertips lightly gracing the smooth skin of Pepper’s inner elbow, lingering softly for a moment warmth sparks in her belly. “It’s a date.”
Pepper opens her mouth to speak, but Bo Burnham’s greatest rival himself interrupts.
“Pepper, why must I be awake at such an ungodly hour?” Tony whines.
Pepper shakes her head and says dryly. “It’s 4 p.m.”
Steve and Clint filter into the kitchen as well, Thor sliding into the stool beside her and snatching the last muffin. “Delightful, pastries shaped like the hats of chefs.”
“Remember,” Steve says. “Coulson wants us to participate in a partner activity.”
“Full offense, Tony, but I’d like a new partner.” Natasha deadpans. “Bruce, care to trade?”
Bruce casts a long-suffering glance in Tony’s direction. “Absolutely not, but do I really have a choice.”
“No.” she says primly, “Thor, eat faster, we have much shopping to attend to.”
*
Thor, Son of Odin, Prince of Asgard, God of Thunder, utterly adored the public mall.
In all the Nine Realms and the galaxies beyond, he has failed to find a race that even begins to capture the unique experience and spirit of the mall quite like Americans. No marketplace or trading center throughout the multiverse had created such an unparalleled as the complete overpricing of jeans and sunglasses, the eye-catching displays of couples publicly fighting or publicly groping--often both at the same time--and the debatablely edible cuisine provided by the luxurious food court.
“Maybe eat those pretzels a little slower, Big Guy? Steve just had to give you the Heimlich maneuver after you shoved an entire muffin in your mouth and started violently choking.”
Thor cast a forlorn glance at his several cups of miniature snacks. “I am afraid I cannot, Lady Natalie, these tiny hotdogs wrapped in the equally tiny dough are too delicious and mouth-sized to ever be consumed at a casual speed.”
“That’s the curse of Auntie Annie's.” She hummed, skewering one of his sugar-coated pretzels. “And you can just call me Nat.”
“Well then, fear not, Lady Nat, for I have tangled with many curses in my years, and will not soon be befallen by this pretzelmongering fiend named Annie.”
Nat exhaled through her nose, something more controlled than a laugh but still conveying amusement. “What were you looking for again?
“I promised to apprehend a skirt for my sibling, Loki, but I am woefully unprepared for the gravity of my pledge. Hot Topic is terribly frightening.” Thor suppressed a shudder.
“So, Loki is emo then?”
Thor shrugged, “I am unfamiliar with that word, but yes, he is.”
“Where are you from again…?
For an uncomfortably lengthy moment, he made prolonged eye contact with her, never pausing to blink, before finally spitting out. “Australia.”
“Really?” she asked, head tilting to the side, “you don’t sound Australian.”
Thor spluttered. "That is only because I am left-handed.”
She nodded, and Thor frowned. He could sense a shift in her demeanor, shoulders lose and face open into the picture of friendliness. One did not grow up alongside Loki and not learn of the powers of persuasion, the tricks of positioning yourself as trustworthy in order to gain the faith of others and coax them into revealing information.
Still, Thor did not react with anger. Old Thor would have been enraged, and the last thing he needed was to revert to his childish persona. He could feel resourcefulness to her machination, and beneath it all, the tangible thread of their genuine connection, a lingering spark of kinship between two people out of place.
“Lady Nat, you have no reason to alter your persona with me.”
She rearranged her features quickly, schooling them in neutrality, but Thor thought he could detect an undercurrent of surprise, perhaps even disappointment. “Thor, I’m sor-”
“Do not apologize, I understand. But, I do like you as you are.”
She bit the inner corner of her mouth, and invisible vice if you were not familiar with where to look. “You don’t know me, Thor, we only met a few days ago. And in a sketchy emotional support group.”
“Yes, but I would like to. You remind me of my sister, Hela. Or, you would remind me of my sister Hela, if I happened to like her and she was not quite literally the personification of evil.”
“I remind you of your terrible sister?” She said slowly.
“Yes! I mean, no, not the terrible part. Certainly, you are more like my good friend, Val, with the loving of women and being extremely intimidating despite being quite small and...” Thor trailed off. “I will stop speaking now.”
“No, I think I’m alright being your terrible sister.”
An electric grin lit up Thor’s face, dazzling as Christmas lights or floating lanterns in its brightness. “Splendid! Besides, I am a wonderful judge of character.”
Nat squinted an eyebrow. “Doesn’t your little brother regularly stab you?”
“Yes, but I am always able to judge, from his character, when they are about to do so.” Thor offered his arm to Nat, and after a pause to consider, she looped her arm through his. “Now let us speak of this no more and wander over to the “kiosk” peddling those delightful crystal and respectful engage with beautiful women. Unless you are otherwise taken, of course.”
“I am absolutely rolling in women, yes.”
“Aye, I suspected, you and the Lady Pepper seem quite compati-”
She stomped on his toe. “Thor, have you ever tried boba? Tea with tapioca bubbles?”
Thor was entirely unaware of what tapioca could be, or how it could assume the form of a bubble, but he certainly was intrigued.
“Boba, you say? Lead me to this beverage.”
*
Steve blinks like a deer in headlights. Or like a super-soldier caught in the most flagrantly obvious lie conceivable. “This is my maid… James Buc- Bush. James Bush Bush.”
Steve’s “maid”, who’s both remarkably attractive and remarkably greasy and currently holding a ninja star in his, oh yeah, fucking metal hand, a smaller piece of his goddamn metal arms, gives an aborted wave. “Hello, I am James.”
“Right, then,” Clint says, because he’s tired and already confused and doesn’t have time to list all the ways the Winter Soldier being Captain America's maid is preposterous.
Man, Tasha totally going to flip. Both her shit and possibly me for delivering the news
Either way, the conspiracy board was about to get even more off the wall tonight. Especially since Clint kept getting bored and replacing their surveillance photos of active SHIELD members with photos of Ben Shapiro and waiting to see how long it took for Tasha to notice.
Clint falls into the nearest chair, fingers running up and down the arm. “So, what do you know about Phil?”
“Coulson?” Steve asks. “Shouldn’t we participate in a partner activity first?”
“We’ll lie and say we played some real rousing rounds of badminton. Now, spill.”
“Agent Coulson spearheaded the SHIELD operation which pulled me out of the ice. He said SHIELD was going to need my help eventually, but right now the last thing America can handle is the revelation that their hero was a teenage soldier. So he shipped me off to public school to finish getting an education and live a normal life until I have a purpose again.”
Clint sighed and climbed further into his chair. While some of the information was new, none of it was particularly helpful. And since Captain America was apparently a glorified political pawn, chances were he’d never be informed of any intel of much use.
Not trying to hide his upset, his frustration must have shown on his face, for Cap amended with, “I'm sorry, I don’t know anything. I’m just as in the dark as you are.”
“James Bush Bush”, sitting halfway across the room and eating a plum, interrupted. “Do you think Coulson is after the tesseract?”
“The tesseract?” Clint asked, taking in a long breath. “I'm sorry, I mean the tesseract??”
“You know. Blue, super glowy, allows for travel across galaxies in an instant but looks like expensive soap?”
“I know what the tesseract is, Optimus Prime, but I didn’t know you chuckle heads fucking had it.” Clint turned. “No offense, Captain America.”
“Some taken,” Cap said, “but regardless, we don’t have it anymore.”
“You don’t have it? One of the most powerful objects in the galaxy?” come on, Clint, you do this a tax free job, you can stay professional. just... stay professional. stay professional, stay professional, stay professional. “What happened then? Hydra? Aliens? A third thing?”
James just shakes his head. “Stevie left it at the bus stop.”
Clint was not going to stay professional.