The last time Steve was in London, the Germans were bombing it. At the time, he hadn’t thought much of it, but to be fair, his mind had been on other things. He has to admit, it’s much nicer without Nazi planes, falling ordinance, and rubble everywhere. It would be nigh-perfect if it wasn’t a working vacation, but he supposes that he can only ask for so much.
He’s still mildly surprised he talked Director Fury into letting half the senior class leave New York and travel unchaperoned across the Atlantic with as little issue as he had. He genuinely likes every single person he picked to come with him, but that doesn’t mean he has any illusions about the potential problems those same people can cause without even actively trying.
But he isn’t leaving Tony behind, no matter what Fury has to say about it. Missions and emergency response actions have been keeping the campus busy lately, and the only date night anyone’s been able to have is the weekly Thor’s Day movie. Everyone is so exhausted, most of the team are asleep long before the final credits roll, heads pillowed on each other’s shoulders, Tony included. London’s an opportunity for alone-time he just couldn’t pass up.
Toni is non-optional, the same as Thor. His three-man squad works amazingly well, better than any squad he’s led in the past or in the present, and going overseas without them at his back didn’t even cross his mind, even if Fury tried to convince him he didn’t need both Tonies in England with him.
And by the same logic that made him invite Tony, he has to invite Clint. Mostly because no alone time is running roughshod over Toni and Clint’s tempers and they deserve just as much of a vacation as he and Tony do, but also, a tiny bit, and he’ll never admit this to anyone… He knows leaving Clint back in the States would mean Toni complaining the entire trip, or perhaps refusing to come at all, and Toni’s whining means Tony starts whining in solidarity with his sister, and it’s just a headache for all involved. Or adjacent. Or in the vicinity.
Rhodes and Wilson were also a package deal, made non-optional by Tony. Steve can’t really argue with him either, because if Steve gets to have his squad, so does Tony. Besides, even though there are a startling number of fliers on the Avengers roster, Tony and Sam and Rhodey have the same versatility and synchronicity that he and Thor and Toni.
He’s still not sure how Natasha latched onto the mission, but it probably has something to do with Clint and Toni. Steve didn’t invite her, but Natasha goes where she pleases, when she pleases, whether it pleases anyone else or not. When his squad disembarked the quinjet at Heathrow yesterday, there she’d been, on the tarmac with everyone else. Steve officially disapproves, but in practice, he likes her attitude a lot. If he’d known she was coming, he’d have made sure to invite her girlfriend on a pretext of it being useful to have someone that can get eyes high without the distinct roar of rocket boots boosting them up.
Sometimes, the nicest thing about being Captain America is that everyone expects him to be forthright and upfront about anything, when in reality he has a pragmatic streak a mile wide, and isn’t above pulling a few nepotistic strings for his friends.
oOoOoOo
Steve fidgets under the cowl of his uniform, pulling at the tight chin strap with a finger, as he waits for the formalities to begin. He might be going soft in his old age — he turned 97 last month, after all — but he’s gotten used to the more relaxed uniform he wears at the Academy. The tight Kevlar and spandex is itchy and restrictive, and even though it feels slightly blasphemous, he just can’t help but think that maybe it’s time to make the change official, and retire the old threads for something as modern and comfortable as it is practical and defensive.
He’s pretty sure Jan would be over the moon if he did that. He also has a sneaking suspicion she might already have something in mind. If she hasn’t designed it already. But none of that helps him now, so he tucks it away into the back of his mind, and focuses on the present.
It’s a surreal feeling, surrounded by everyone in their full kit. The streamlined mirror-sheen of Iron Man’s red and golds, reactors shining white-blue. The intimidating, oddly graceful gunmetal bulk of War Machine, standing with Iron Man and Falcon, who himself is lean and deadly and professional, even with the wings packed away. Titania and Thor, flanking him and half a step behind, Titania’s blue-and-silver armor cool contrast to her brother’s, Thor in full Asgardian regalia, every inch the Crown Prince in cape and helm, Mjolnir hanging from his belt. Even Hawkeye and Black Widow, less geared in light body armor and form-fitting clothing, tech shades and wrist-mounted weaponry, look intimidating and lethal. They are in Steve’s opinion the most threatening-looking out of the whole heavily-armed and -armored bunch.
It’s surreal to not see the volatile genius, the boisterous cheer, the wrestling and the jokes and the pranks and the indignant cries and smug laughs and the life behind every mask, under every faceplate, beneath every persona. He’s not often given to poetry, but it’s almost like walking with gods, a pantheon of warriors and defenders he’s privileged to know, to lead. Still, he honestly can’t wait until they can all change back into civvies and relax and just be themselves again. But part of him desperately hopes someone will be talking pictures, because surreal as it is, it is beautiful, it is something his artist soul wants immortalized. Just in case, he turns his attention to memorizing details, so he can paint it when he gets back home.
Time stretches on, and nearly no Avenger has ever had patience. It doesn’t take longer than ten minutes, fifteen tops, before Iron Man and Titania and War Machine have their faceplates up, Falcon and Hawkeye have their tech glasses pushed to the tops of their heads, and Thor’s helmet dangles from his fingertips. No one is in neat formation anymore, wandering towards the vending machine on the side of the building, chattering away, loudly complaining they’re bored.
Steve smiles to himself, wryly thinking that his personal pantheon might be intimidating and imposing, but lord, can they whine mightily for food and entertainment when asked to stand still for longer than a couple of minutes. Another minute, and he’s got his cowl pushed back too, and hunts himself down a candy bar while waiting.
Eventually, someone comes to fetch them from the courtyard by the guest dormitories, and Steve sighs faintly. Time to go to work. “Avengers,” he says loudly, and pulls his cowl back over his face, ignoring the pinch of the chinstrap as he adjusts it. He waits, in parade rest, as every head turns to him, food hastily stuffed into mouths, drinks gulped down, garbage disposed of, feet shuffling back into place, chatter dying into quiet.
“Avengers, assemble,” he calls, more firmly this time. Three faceplates snap down, eyes lighting up in succession. Two pairs of tech glasses slide back onto faces. One helmet is thumped firmly into place. Captain America hauls the shield off its clip on his back and over his head, snugging it on his arm. “Let’s go meet Excalibur.”
oOoOoOo
An hour later, Steve’s still not sure what to make of the British team. The formal introduction were smooth and hitch-free, polite shakes of hands and exchange of names, with the press watching and taking pictures. Excalibur seems to be a well-rounded team; it's easy to tell from the way they flow around each other that they've been working together for awhile. Captain Britain and Union Jack squabble like the Tonies do, for reasons that become clear when the informal meet-and-greet starts, and they introduce themselves as Betsy and Brian Braddock. In civilian clothes, it's clear they're twins, which oddly reassures Steve.
In a quiet moment, he looks around the room, locating and identifying his team. The Tonies co-opted Brian the second they discovered his background in physics, and the three of them are in a frighteningly animated conversation in a corner. Rhodey and Sam look like they’re enjoying their chat with Moira MacTaggart and Meggan, and Clint and Thor are playing darts with Dane Whitman and Rahne Sinclair. Surprisingly, Natasha hasn’t disappeared from sight like Steve might have expected her to. Instead, she’s perched on a chair not far from the Tonies, with Niko Minoru and Pete Wisdom, and the intensity of her interest frightens Steve almost as much as the excitement of the Tonies does.
“Don’t look so worried,” Betsy says, nudging his elbow with hers and grins. “If your lot are anything like mine, you’ll have at least ten minutes of warning before something blows up.”
“Ten minutes, huh?” Steve says ruefully, looking down into his drink. “Sounds luxurious.” He sips his drink as Betsy arches an eyebrow. “I put nothing past the Tonies,” he says. “They once managed to rip open a portal to Asgard by mixing some chemicals together. I start off by assuming that they can do literally anything, and plan accordingly.”
Betsy is clearly skeptical, but doesn't seem willing to make an issue of it. “We don't really have those problems here,” she says. “We run pretty low-tech as a team. It tends to interfere with our magic.” She gives him a look that, if Steve didn't know better, he would call superior. “Our biggest difference from the Avengers, I guess.”
“Magic?” Steve shakes his head and finishes his drink. “Not really sure I believe in magic.”
Betsy laughs. “That's adorable,” she says. “Don't you have a pair of sorcerers on the Avengers?”
“They're alien,” Steve says practically. “Asgardian science might as well be magic to us, because we don't comprehend it.”
Betsy's smile grows a little too wide, becomes a borderline smirk. “Who told you that? Your boyfriend?”
Steve’s hackles rise, and his shoulders tense. “Yes, actually,” he says, knows he’s frowning an unhappy frown, “And almost every other Avenger with a background in science as well.”
“Typical,” Betsy says with a delicate snort. “If they can’t measure it, weigh it, categorize it or define it, scientists don’t believe in it.”
“Isn’t your brother a scientist? If he’s anything like the Tonies, he would have been in the lab until he figured it out.”
“He tried.” Betsy smiles, looking lost in a memory for a moment. “He finally had to give up, though, after he fried the third CT machine. Hardest thing I ever saw him accept, that magic couldn’t be studied with technology, only hands-on practice.”
Unease runs icy fingers across the back of Steve’s neck, and his eyes go to Tony, far less animated now, maybe a little pale. Beside him, Toni’s eyes are glazed and a faint sheen of sweat beads her forehead. “Why can’t it be studied?” he asks, with the sinking feeling that he already knows the answer. “I know Pym’s looked into it back in New York with some success.”
“There’s something about the kind of magic you find here in Britain. It’s ancient, and doesn’t play with modern technology well. It’s partly why we don’t have much in the way of electronics in this part of the campus. Unless it’s shielded, the ley lines interfere with the tech,” Betsy says. “The more complicated a piece of technology, the faster it happens. Hey! Where are you going?”
Steve is moving before she finishes her sentence, faster than he’s ever moved in his life. Across the room, Tony sucks in a painful gasp as his hand goes to his chest, where the arc reactor flickers. What little color he had in his face drains abruptly away. Toni reaches a hand out and sets it on her brother’s shoulder, clumsy and uncoordinated, trembling with the effort.
Steve hears someone bellow for Clint, barely realizes it's himself, and vaults over a couch in time to catch Tony as the arc reactor goes dark and he collapses. As Steve scoops Tony up, he has time to see Toni’s eyes go glassy, and a trickle of blood run from her nose. And then Clint is there to catch her with frantic hands, and Thor too, for some reason, large and looming, hammer in hand, yelling for Heimdall. But all Steve can see is Tony’s face, ashen and unbreathing.
oOoOoOo
“I’m fine,” Tony says for the thousandth time, loudly and with a lot of eye-rolling. “You can stop hovering at any point.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Steve says absently, flipping another page of the mission briefing. Without looking up from the pages, he points stubbornly at Tony. “Get back in bed, Shellhead. You’re not recovered yet.”
Caught halfway in the process of getting on his feet, Tony freezes, then grumbles and shoves his legs back under the sheets. “I have to pee,” he says sullenly. “And I’m fine. New arc reactor in, old reactor safely disposed of, everything is magically better. I don’t need to stay in bed, Steve.”
Steve sighs and looks up. “Humor me,” he says tiredly. “And wait for the darn doctors to clear you. Please, for me.”
There’s a long pause, and then Tony sighs. “That’s not playing fair, babe,” he complains, and flops back against the pillows. “But fine. I’ll stay in stupid bed and wait for the stupid doctors to clear me, okay?”
“Thank you, Tony,” Steve says, sincere and relieved. “That puts my mind at ease.”
“You should be more worried about Toni,” Tony says, still scowling. “She’s even more averse to hospital beds than I am. You should totally go make sure she’s not trying to sneak out before the doctors clear her.”
“Clint’s doing that,” Steve says, and turns a page as he returns to the report. “It’s handled.” Which is probably the biggest understatement he’s made in awhile. Last time he looked in on Toni, she was still asleep, but Clint had been wrapped octopus-secure around her, glaring at the nursing staff trying to get him to move. Steve wishes the nurses luck, honestly. They’d have a better chance getting the Hulk to play the piano than peeling Clint away from Toni right now.
Thwarted again, Tony grumbles and fiddles with his blankets. “You’ve read that report five times already. What are you looking for?”
“Maybe nothing,” Steve says, closing the file and sitting back, rifling his hands through his hair. Tony stares at him silently, so silently it’s kind of unnerving. “Would you say the Avengers are well-known for their technology?”
Tony snorts. “Three suits of flying power armor, a guy with mechanical wings, a guy with trick arrows and a girl with all sorts of nasty gadgets that shock, stab or go boom. Yeah, honeybunch. I think we’re pretty clearly tech-based.“ An eyebrow goes up. “Why?”
Steve sighs. “Apparently, every member of Excalibur gained their powers through magic,” he says. Tony snorts again and opens his mouth. Steve holds up a hand. “No, let me finish. Betsy said her brother tried to study the magic, quantify it, but something about the type of energy here messed up the equipment every single time.”
“Okay…” Tony says slowly.
Steve gestures at the folder on the edge of the bed. “There’s no mention of it anywhere in the briefing,” he says. “And if there’s some kind of… energy, or force here that can interfere with technology, why wouldn’t you at least bring it up in the mission packet for a tech-heavy team coming to visit?”
Tony stills, and his face pales a little. “Toni and I rely on tech to keep living,” he says quietly, “not just fly around and shoot aliens with repulsors.” He shakes his head in the next minute. “Probably not an assassination attempt on the Starks, though. Not many people know how extensively we need…” He makes a wry face, raps on the face of his arc reactor with a knuckle.
“They could make a few guesses, though,” Steve says pragmatically, leaning back in his chair again. He crosses his arms across his chest, tilts his chin down in thought. He shakes his head, frowning. He really doesn’t like the direction his thoughts are heading. “Maybe I’m making something out of nothing. I mean, I’m sure it’s nothing...”
Tony reaches out, tugs his elbow until his hand comes free, and threads his fingers through Steve’s. “Let’s hear it anyway,” he says gently. “Just in case.”
Steve squeezes his hand gratefully, then tosses caution to the wind and slides onto the bed next to Tony, who immediately curls into Steve’s side. “So, you want to get rid of the Avengers,” he says. “Who do you take out first?”
“JARVIS,” Tony replies immediately. Steve glances down at him, and Tony grins up. “What? I would. You have no idea how much of the Academy he actually runs.”
Steve closes his eyes briefly, imagining how Director Fury would react to that nugget of information. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” he says, pained. “Outside of JARVIS, who would you go after first?”
Tony chews his lip for a moment. “Us,” he says after a moment. “Me and sis. You knock the Starks out, there goes most of the tech. Sure, Rhodey’s brilliant and so’s Sam, but we’re the money, the gear, the good looks, the charm…”
“The modesty,” Steve cuts in with a smile.
Tony shrugs easily. “When you’re right, you’re right. Anyway. The campus is brimming with various levels of genius, but without us… The Avengers look very different.”
“Right. Then who do you tackle?”
“You. Bruce. Thor. Rhodey. You hit the money, then you hit the heavies. That leaves everyone else scrambling for ground, and you can pick ‘em off at your leisure, provided you underestimate the super spy squad.” He hesitates. “I’d probably pick off the sorcerers next, but with Loki and Amora, you can’t be sure they’re not actually behind it.”
“Cheerful thought.” Steve leans his head sideways, resting his cheek against the top of Tony’s head. “And what,” he says carefully, “if you could take out the money, the muscle, and most of the tech all in one swoop?”
“Then you do that, duh.” Tony blinks. “Oh. But Banner’s not here, and Thor wouldn’t be affected by magic, and you’re fine, right? Steve, you’re okay, right?”
“Shh. I’m fine. Just thinking. Science made me too, Tony. I’m not mechanical or electronic or whatever, but chemistry is technology too, isn’t it? If I’d stayed there long enough, who knows? Maybe Rebirth would have started to break down. Maybe it’d kill me. Maybe I’d go back to the old, frail Steve.” He shrugs uneasily, trying to dismiss the thought, but it doesn’t go easy. He still has nightmares about waking up in his old body from time to time, weak and gasping for breath and unable to save his loved ones. “Either way, no more Captain America.”
“You’re always Captain America,” Tony says firmly. “I don’t care if you’re three feet tall and fifty pounds soaking wet.” He pokes Steve in the side, and Steve jumps a little; damned sensitive ribs. “Your muscles are nice, honeybunch, but they’re not what make you Cap.”
Warmth blooms in his chest and he carefully hugs Tony tight. “Thank you.”
“Pssh.” Tony waves him off irritably, fishes his StarkPhone out of his jacket pocket and thumbs it to life. “You there, JARVIS? ”
“Yes, sir,” JARVIS says. “How may I be of service?”
“Reserve rooms at an appropriate hotel for the entire team, checkin as soon as we can claw our way out of the nurses’ tender clutches,” Tony says. He looks up at Steve, eyes hard and worried and determined. “We’re not going back to the Excalibur Academy. I’ll stay in a Best Western before I risk you and Toni.”
“I very much doubt, Shellhead,” Steve says fondly, “that you’ll have to sacrifice that much.”
oOoOoOo
Steve decides the best course of action, once the Tonies are able to leave the hospital and the team moves into the hotel Tony reserved, that they should stay as low-key as possible, to avoid triggering any dormant ley lines or magical traps that might have been laid for their tech. And he makes it interesting. In order to avoid using their various abilities — not counting any tech that keeps them alive and breathing and functional, like Toni's Extremis nanites or Tony's arc reactor implant — Steve rules that, whichever one of them breaks first gets last choice on the chore roster for the next month.
The problem with that, however, is that when someone ends up free-climbing the London Eye to fetch his girlfriend’s lost Bear Workshop teddy, whoever flies up to catch him when he inevitably falls is going to have to do the Hulk’s laundry for a month.
“I am going to murder you in interesting ways,” Toni says casually, shading her eyes with her hands to watch Clint work his way up the side of the gigantic Ferris wheel. “I don’t care that we shared a womb. I wouldn’t even care if we shared a brain. When he falls, your clock starts running, Anthony.”
“He’s not going to fall,” Tony says, standing beside her and also shading his eyes to track Clint’s progress. “Relax, Antonia. It’s like you have no faith in your part-monkey boytoy. Besides, if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s yours.”
“My fault? How is it my fault? You’re the one that said—”
“If you hadn’t lost your stupid Captain Abearica over the side of the—”
“Tonies.” Steve’s rebuke is mild, but they both fall silent instantly, because there are echoes of Captain America Is Growing Irritated With The Childishness in his tone. He isn’t looking at either one of them, just standing with his feet set and his hands on his hips, neck craned back to keep an eye on Clint, who is now far overhead, but both Stark twins look chastised and stare at their feet. “This isn’t the time to be squabbling.”
“Damn,” Rhodey stage-whispers to Sam. “He found the Tonies’ off switch. I’ve been looking for that thing for years. Do you think if I asked him nicely, he’d teach me how to use it?”
“I doubt it,” Sam says, trying to keep his tone diplomatic. “Besides, I don’t think it’s one of those things that can be taught. I’m pretty sure that every single one of us could copy Steve’s tone down to the most minute inflection, but it wouldn’t ever work for us. I think it’s one of Steve’s superpowers.”
“Does that mean Steve loses the dare?”
Natasha makes an indelicate, unladylike noise in the back of her throat. “No,” she says scornfully, not taking her eyes away from the screen of her smartphone, which is raised and pointed at Clint, already more than halfway up. “But I’ll give you points for trying, Rhodes. Whoever loses the bet is going to be whichever one of you flying types breaks first and goes to catch dumbass out of mid-air. So, probably Other Natasha. She’s lovesick enough to risk washing Banner’s boxers.”
“Hey,” Toni protests, but it lacks both heat and conviction. Her face pales and she squeezes her eyes shut as Clint makes a leap from one strut to the next, an aborted squawk of panic catching in her throat. “Oh Jesus,” she breathes, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes. “I can feel myself going grey. I am getting grey frakking hairs form this.”
Natasha snickers. “I have a gas mask I’ll loan you, Stark. You’ll need it for the laundry room.”
“Natasha,” Steve says in that same mild tone. “Is there a reason you’re filming this?”
To her credit, Natasha’s face doesn’t do anything but twitch an eyebrow. For most people, it’s the equivalent of cringing in mortification for upsetting Captain America. “Blackmail, mostly,” she says neutrally. “I have emergency services pre-programmed into my phone, Rogers. All I have to do is swipe and press, and paramedics are on their way.”
“That’s what I like about you, Natasha,” Steve says. “You plan for everything.” He squints at the distant speck Clint has become. “Well, he’s made it to the top.”
“It’s all downhill from here,” Tony says cheerfully, then flinches when Toni’s hand smacks him upside the back of the head. “Ow!” He glares at his sister, rubbing the back of his head, then grins ruefully. “I deserved that.”
“You did,” Toni says, and glances back up again. She starts pacing restlessly, circling like a cat. “I’m going to kill him,” she mutters. “That stupid bear isn’t worth this.”
“He’s gonna fall,” Rhodey says, and shifts his feet apart. “The wind’s too high up there.”
“No, he isn’t,” Sam says, but doesn’t sound convinced. “He’s got a good grip.”
“Yeah,” Rhodey replies. “But now he’s coming down one-handed.”
“Screw this,” Toni snarls suddenly, and abruptly gains two inches of height as her nano-armor boots manifest, locking into place around her calf from knee to sole. “I lose,” she snaps, blue-and-silver crawling around her hands and forearms, and her boot jets roar into life. “Whatever.”
She rockets straight up, the repulsors bright spots against the sky, making a beeline for where Clint’s dropping down, one strut at a time. The group left below are silent, watching as both figures pause for a moment, and then Clint starts climbing down again, Toni slowly descending in midair parallel to his position.
“This doesn’t really feel like winning,” Rhodey says quietly after a minute. “Are we really going to make Toni do Hulk’s laundry?”
“Yes,” Tony says.
“No,” Steve says a half-step behind him, and Tony stares at him. He stares back, one eyebrow arched.
Tony is mutinous and defiant, jaw set stubbornly as he meets Steve’s eyes in challenge. It lasts for all of two seconds, before his shoulders slump in defeat. “No,” Tony mutters, rubbing at his forehead. “We’re not.”
“I have got to figure out how he does that,” Rhodey says, voice hushed with awe.
Steve smiles and goes back to tracking Clint and Toni overhead. “It really helps to have earned someone’s respect when you need to give them orders,” he says.
Sam starts laughing. “You just got burned by Captain America,” he says, and elbows Rhodey.
“And yet somehow,” Rhodey says, elbowing Sam back, “it still feels patriotic.”
“Though really,” Steve continues, as if Rhodey and Sam hadn’t spoken at all, “if anyone can be said to have lost the bet, it’s me.” He nods firmly, the look of a man taking on acceptable responsibility. “I’ll do the Hulk’s laundry,” he announces.
“What?” Tony blinks owlishly at Steve. “Why would you say that?”
“Yeah, man, I don’t follow,” Rhodey says, and Sam nods in confusion.
Steve crosses his arms across his chest. “Avengers, I’m one of your leaders,” he says. “It’s my responsibility to set the example. I failed you all today by not speaking up earlier. A silly bet shouldn’t ever prevent us from being prepared to go to a teammate’s assistance.” Perhaps it’s a side effect of carrying the shield for so long, but Steve has never looked as Captain America-y as he does in the middle of his speech, as noble and dutiful and inspiring. “So I’m declaring myself the loser, and will bear the consequences.”
Stunned silence follows, broken by a trio of resigned sighs. “Aw man,” Rhodey says miserably. “You didn’t fail us, bro. Seriously. We were all being selfish. You shouldn’t have to lose the bet. You didn’t do anything wrong.” He sighs through his nose. “I’ll be the loser. I’m ROTC. I should know better.”
“Hey, I’m the one who goaded Birdbrain into climbing up there in the first place,” Tony says heatedly. “If anyone should lose, it’s me, okay? None of this would have happened if not for me and my big mouth.”
“Barton’s the one who climbed up there,” Sam points out. “And technically, he broke the rules first. No superpowers, right? You can’t tell me that being able to see a stuffed bear caught on a girder five hundred feet overhead is something normal people can do.”
“He’s at the upper maximum of human ability,” Natasha puts in smoothly. “It’s not a metahuman mutation. Fury had him tested.”
“It’s true,” Tony says. “It’s also beside the point. He may have climbed up there, but he wouldn’t have if I hadn’t mocked him.”
“Technically,” Rhodey says, “you wouldn’t have been able to egg him on if your sister hadn’t lost the damn bear to begin with. So it’s her fault.”
“Yeah, but she put someone else’s welfare before her own,” Sam replies. “It’d be wrong of us to make her suffer the penalties for doing what we should have all done in the first place.”
As Rhodey, Sam and Tony argue in increasingly louder tones, with more animated gestures, Natasha side-eyes Steve with an impressed grin. “You’re good,” she says. “Very smooth.”
Steve shrugs modestly, with a self-satisfied grin so tiny it’s barely there at all. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“So it’s settled!” Tony says, loud and firm. “We’ll each take a week of laundry, and split up the final one. Okay?”
“Yeah, sure,” Rhodey says.
“Fine with me,” Sam agrees.
Steve shakes his head. “I’ll take the fourth week,” he says and, as one, all three heads whip around. He shrugs at them. “Seems only fair,” he says.
Flush with triumph, hair hopelessly mussed by the wind and a little strained around the eyes, most likely from the death grip Toni’s got locked with her arms around his waist, Clint rejoins the group, one arm slung over Toni’s shoulders. Toni’s Captain Abearica hangs from his free hand, a little bedraggled and stained, but still in one piece, stars and stripes and all. “Told you I could do it, Tinhead,” he says with a smirk. “Ye of little faith.”
“Never,” Toni says, her eyes dark and violent beneath her bangs, “ever do that again, either of you. It’s easier and more satisfying to just kill you myself.”
“You should kill him anyway,” Natasha says, folding her arms. “If it weren’t for him, you wouldn’t have lost the bet.”
“You did what?” Clint yelps, pulling away to stare at her. “Jeez, Toni. Why would you do something like that?”
“Clearly, because I’m a dumbass,” Toni snaps. “Also, because I prefer you alive.” She’s clearly not looking forward to the next month of Hulk-sized washer loads, but doesn’t stop clutching his waist like she’s the only thing keeping him rooted to the earth.
“No, that’s not fair,” he says, then shakes his head, turns to face her and pulls her into a full hug. “I’ll do it. You shouldn't have to.” He looks over his shoulder at the others, mouth tight. “I'll do it,” he says again, firmly.
Natasha shakes her head in amazement. “And you weren't even on the ground for Cap’s speech,” she murmurs, twisting to eye Steve again in speculation. “When we get back to the hotel,” she says, “I'm going to make you watch Spartacus.”
He smiles back at her, placid as a lake. “Who says I haven't seen it already?”