1point5kidsandaruger | I seem to be what I'm not, you see. I'm wearing my heart like a crown.

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I seem to be what I'm not, you see. I'm wearing my heart like a crown.

[The lab at the NTS gives Steve the crawls, no matter how many times he ends up there. Maybe it's the wasteland backing the place, the radiation warning signs or the huge pits where gamma-based explosive have ripped chunks out of the earth. Maybe it's the way the self-contained facility circulates purified air until the entire place tastes stale. Regardless, when Howard says there's 'something interesting' there and that General Phillips has requested Captain America's presence at the base ASAP, Steve doesn't exactly have a choice but to go.

The surroundings are still unsettling. The air still tastes stale. But there's a wildness to the place that Steve's never seen before. Scientists rushing back and forth, holding conversations that are at once hushed and excited. He almost has to pry one away from her clipboard in order to find out where Phillips and Stark are waiting. "Requested SSR personnel are supposed to go to observation room three," she says, and by the time he manages to get directions there he's already looking forward to stepping back out into the Nevada heat.

What he doesn't expect when he gets to Observation Room Three is to see Peggy and a half-dozen higher ups whose names and faces he knows but whom he's never personally met. What he doesn't expect is to see a man restrained in the otherwise empty cleanroom on the other side of the glass. Steve's escort stays on the other side of the door when it gets shut. He drifts to Peggy's side, saluting the Phillips at the same time.]

General. Is... What is this?

[Phillips raises his eyebrows at Steve in a look the Captain knows too well by now.]

Funny.[Phillips gestures at the glass.]I was hoping you could tell me. Stark got Skull's toy box open - ripped a nice shiny hole in the wall of his lab and spiked radiation levels in the entire facility. And also gave us him.

[Steve moves to the glass, resisting the urge to press a hand against it and peer closer, like the prisoner is a new exhibit at the zoo.] I'm not sure I follow, sir.

Came through the hole, took out two scientists and five guards - and then things got interesting.

[Steve frowns, still watching the prisoner.] ...Sir?

He took one look at the uniforms and started demanding to see you.

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Steve relaxes in increments, Rosalie calming beside him as well. He gives her a little one-armed hug and moves forward, signaling the all-clear to Gabriel and opening the front door. He meets Clint's eyes, just for a moment, and nods. He might not be sure what's going on, but Clint's reaction has at least put to bed some lingering doubts.

Josephine reaches forward and grabs a handful of Steve's hair, ruining whatever gravity the exchange might have had.

Steve extricates her fingers from his scalp and taps her on the nose. "That isn't yours either."

The interior of the house bears some resemblance to the apartment of the Captain Clint knows - drawings and paintings everywhere, books everywhere, tidy and simple. It's clear neither of the home's owners believe in excess unless it has to do with practical education or the arts.

Steve makes his way to the living room, which has more books stacked everywhere and television that looks like it gets used maybe once a month.

"Sarah, Rosalie, what do we do when we have guests?"

The two girls look at each other, apparently coordinating their answer in silence. In any case, they both turn to Clint and intone politely, "Would you like something to drink?"

Edited 2012-06-26 03:45 (UTC)

Peggy doesn't quite relax in tune with Steve, not even as they enter the house and she enters a familiar layout, because hidden among the books are, of course, guns -- though kept mostly out of reach of the girls. She leans over and kisses Sarah on the head and finally lets go of her hand just before she and Rosalie ask Clint their question.

He knows how to handle children, at least, and that much sets her nerves a little at ease. But she won't quite be satisfied until one thing.

She takes the few steps closer to him and slides her hands around Josephine, lifting and taking her from Clint without a word. The toddler lets out a shriek, half in amusement and half annoyed, one of the arrows coming with as her tiny hand grips it. She's pleased with her prize, and she begins to ramble about it expectantly to her mother. 'Feddur!' continues to be slipped in, each time louder and more exuberant than the last.

With Josephine in her arms, Peggy finally reaches an actual level of relaxed, even as the two-year-old flails about with bonus gesticulation to her story. "That's amazing, darling," she says softly, and Josephine lets out a shrill happy noise and claps her hands, dropping the arrow on the floor.

The domesticity of the scene is at odds with the tension rolling off of everyone in the room, no matter how well they hide it. Clint wants to laugh at the girls' question, not in a harsh way. No, what he really wants to reply with is "do you have any hard whiskey?" But of course that's not the thing to say to children, and definitely not these children. So instead he just shrugs.

"I'm fine, girls. Thanks." He's not at ease with formality, not even this cookie-cutter, childish brand. And it shows in his face and tone.

When Josephine grabs one of his arrows--he watches Peggy that entire time, knew she wouldn't be content until her child wasn't in his arms, it only made sense--he made sure he knew exactly which one she was grabbing. The map of his quiver is implanted on his brain better than his own name. (Standard, standard, grappling hook, explosive, bolo, etc, etc.) The one she grabbed was the EMP. He knew she couldn't detonate it even if she tried.

Still, that didn't stop him from reaching over and removing the head as it fell to the ground, tucking it into his pocket. There wasn't much to be electrically shorted-out, here, but you never knew when these things could come in handy.

Steve studies Clint, reading the man with the ease of twenty-four years of life-based experience and almost twelve years of training.

"I'd like some tea," he says, resting a hand on Sarah's head. She looks up at him with Peggy's pinched expression, the look that says I know you're thinking something you aren't telling me.

"Could you get a little of the top-shelf for Agent Barton? The one with the black label that Uncle Dugan likes." Steve raises an eyebrow in question at Clint. Sarah takes her sister's hand and heads for the kitchen.

Once they're out of immediate earshot, Steve settles on to the couch, rubbing his knees with both hands. "Make yourself comfortable. I get the feeling we'll be here a while."

He has a million questions, but he won't start until Peggy's signalled she's ready.

Peggy sits on the couch herself, gesturing for Barton to take the chair. She adjusts Josephine accordingly and comfortably before handing the child a book, which she appropriately opens and starts reading (and occasionally singing) out loud. "Boppy!"

Gabriel shifts to stand in the doorway, ready to pull back and distract the girls should they finish their task early, but in a spot where he can clearly listen in the meantime.

With all her daughters sufficiently distracted, Peggy finally lets her attention come back fully to the situation at hand. A situation that apparently involves a man from 2012 who claims to know Captain America -- and not just the name, but the man behind it.

Mouth in a thin line, she's entirely business even as she occasionally rocks the toddler in her lap. "Let's start with how you seem to know Steve, and know him quite well, especially for someone apparently from 2012."

Clint blinks at Steve's drink orders to Sarah, but doesn't contradict them. He sits down where Peggy indicates, even if the position he eventually settles on is more perched than relaxed. When she asks her question, he can't meet either of their gazes. He stares far away into some unseen distance instead.

"He froze. In the ice. The SSR and then SHIELD looked for him for seventy years, and then they found him. When we thawed him out, he was alive."

He froze.

Two words that knock the bottom out of Steve's stomach. Conjure up a recovery room filled with lemon and and bleach and the faint lingering odor of sweat and vomit. Remind him of how Peggy looked that day, rumpled and panicked, the only time he's ever seen her in either state.

Steve reaches for her hand automatically, the spreading cold in his gut made worse by Josephine's continued recitation of her book in the otherwise silent room. Six months in the ice made coming back into the world like missing a step down a familiar stairway. Seventy years...

He needs to hold his daughter.

Steve scoops her out of Peggy's lap to cradle her against him with one arm, still holding the agent's hand with his free one.

Gabriel stares at the back of Clint's head, his normal stoicism fractured by an expression of disbelief and none-too-subtle dislike.

"Howard - Mr. Stark found me," Steve murmurs, almost drowned out by Josephine pointing out a particularly interesting bit of the picture in her book. He kisses the top of her head. "Pulled me out of the water not long after he found-" After he found the Tesseract, which is still classified, no matter who Barton says he is.

Edited 2012-06-27 14:23 (UTC)

Peggy's tightens around his the moment she feels his fingers against hers. She holds it tighter than she means to, but she can't bring herself to loosen her grip. It's the only outward sign of uncertainty, a surge of panic that she hides behind the usual carefully constructed soldier's face, even as the tiniest tremble flickers through her.

When Steve reaches to take Josephine, she doesn't stop him. She watches him resettle her, then turns back to Clint, calculating and studying.

Six months. That's how long she thought he was dead. And with a daughter curled in his lap and two more in the kitchen, an entire life with him for over ten years now --

Seventy years. Dead. She was probably dead.

She wants to lean against him, call Sarah and Rosalie back into the living room and never let any of them out of sight again.

Instead she takes a quiet, deep breath and steadies herself. Now is not the time. She keeps her hand in Steve's, focuses on Clint. "It was only six months," she says, professionally, calmly. "Howard Stark led a recovery mission. Most of the details are classified."

There's still a skeptical part of her that doubts what Clint is saying, fueled by an inability to see her life any differently. But there's an honesty in the man she has a hard time shoving aside.

Edited 2012-06-27 19:22 (UTC)

Clint has no problem tossing uncomfortable truths at people. He's had to deal with enough that he thinks everyone probably deserves a few. This one is on a decidedly different scale, but he still doesn't shy away from this. When they deny it, he just shakes his head.

"Howard Stark looked, sure. But he died and never found anything. But then the world started changing. Stark's kid became a superhero, we had a visit from some extraterrestrial gods. And we found Captain America."

When he lists them like that, he realizes how much the world has changed. He's just a footnote on that story, a story that isn't being written in this world. He swallows.

"It's 2012. And Steve Rogers is an Avenger. I'm on his team."

There's another protest in him. First of all, Stark's kid. Even ignoring the part where Clint so casually talks about one of Steve's best friends dying - Howard, with a child? He can't even imagine it, not even after ten years of knowing the man.

The fact that that detail, more even than the idea of extraterrestrial gods, hangs Steve up... He leans against Peggy, amused in that tiredly ironic way they sometimes share.

"Cap," says Gabriel, and a moment later Rosalie and Sarah enter again, Sarah carrying a tray that should be far too heavy for a six-year-old, Rosalie carrying... a cabinet door. Steve bites down hard on a smile. This is his life. No matter what Clint says, no matter what world the agent lives in.

"Sarah broke it," Rosalie says.

"Rose helped," Sarah counters, ever dignified.

"It wasn't my fault." She scowls at her sister as Sarah sets the tray down on the living room table.

Sarah dusts her hands off, clearly mimicking an action she's seen her parents perform. "You distracted me."

"You need to be able to control yourself even if you're distracted, hon. Let me see." Steve hands Josephine off to Peggy and gestures for Rosalie to bring him the door.

Peggy's grateful for the return of her daughters -- the momentary distraction allows her to collect herself and briefly run over everything Clint has explained. Try to make sense of it. If she hadn't seen some of the things HYDRA was capable of, she'd be much more skeptical, but the Tesseract still held unknown powers.

At least until the door comes into play. Josephine lets out a giggle and waves the book at it as Peggy settles her. She flails her arms, trying to reach for -- well, it could be either door or tray of tea, but Peggy's arm around her is secure, and the toddler stretches in determined vain.

"Remember what happened last time," she says to Sarah, mildly chastising, even as she smiles, simply glad for their return and how close they are once more. But she steals a look at Clint -- the prior conversation is not over, as much as she would like to avoid it.

He had thought he was getting used to the girls, or the idea of them at any rate. But when they return and the scene unfolds Clint feels like the rug's been pulled out from under him again. He doesn't gape, but he bites down hard on the inner lining of his mouth. Pain in small doses keeps things in perspective, and clenching his teeth keeps him from saying something stupid.

But holy shit those are Steve Rogers and Peggy Carter's little girls and they have the strength to do that.

Clint doesn't even realize he's gotten up off his chair until he backs up against the wall.

Steve wouldn't have noticed Gabriel moving if he hadn't known the man so long. Smooth as butter, without a change in expression, Gabe's hand goes under his jacket and he flanks Clint as the other man hits the wall.

Steve gets to his feet at once, holding both hands up, as much to placate Clint as anything. He realizes a moment too late he's still holding the cabinet door in one of them. "Gabe, stand down."

Steve hands the door back to Sarah. "It looks like you just broke the pins. It's easy to fix, but until we do, you'll have to make sure Jo stays out of the cabinet."

"Papa..." It's not a whine, but it's close. She's a little busy watching Clint with her first real show of nerves.

"Even accidents have consequences," Steve says, gently. He pours a generous glass of whisky from the bottle on the tray and gestures for Gabe to move back, offering the drink to Clint.

"I take it the..." It's strange to say. "The Captain Rogers you know doesn't have children."

Rosalie and Sarah move together behind Steve, gripping each others' hands, looking from their mother to Gabe to Clint, both showing varying degrees of fear.

It takes all of two seconds for Peggy to analyse the situation. Mouth drawn into a thin line, she beckons for the girls to come over to her -- not out of fear of Clint so much as lowering theirs.

"Sarah, darling, just set that down against the wall over there, all right? And then pour me some tea, please." It might be an odd request, given the current goings-on, but Peggy knows her daughter well enough that asking a simple request helps focus her mind, and she's not about to ask them to leave the room again right now.

She nods and walks over, dragging Rosalie with her, half out of older sister protectiveness and half for her own sense of comfort. Setting the door gently down, Sarah skits back, Rosalie still at her side, and pours two cups of tea -- one for herself and one for her mother, passing the first over accordingly. Then she hops on the couch, sitting close to her mother but straight enough to show she's trying to keep a braver front.

Rosalie doesn't have quite the same determination, curling against Peggy on the other side and idly trying to hold Josephine's flailing hand.

"And Agent Barton, please, come sit back down." It's said calmly enough, but there's a level of 'or else' subtly tacked on.

He's already thinking of a plan. One quick jab to knock out Gabe, a flare from his quiver to distract the others, and then... and then he'd throw himself out a window and run. Go as far as he could until he had to find cover, then rest and try and figure out what else to do. Who to call... Fury, Natasha-- Fury's not the man he knows, yet. Natasha's not even born. Those realizations fall heavy on his chest. He shakes the thoughts away, trying to focus. He could run anyway, figure it out as he went. Who cared what year it was? He could, he could... he could realize that the only way out of this was the tessaract, the thing that got him here.

When was that damn thing going to stop ruining his life?

He's still biting down on his own skin, hard enough now to draw blood. He forces himself to look at Steve, and then at Peggy when she speaks. He tosses a glare Gabe's way--don't think he didn't see you moving, don't think he couldn't take you--before he grabs the offered drink from Steve and downs it in two quick swallows. That washes the blood down his throat, a bit.

"No," he says to Steve. "He didn't."

Clint takes a step towards his chair and then pauses. He puts on hand against the back of it, leaning on the chair. But that's as far as he goes.

His face scrunches for a moment before he forces himself to smile, albeit weakly, at the girls. "He's really missing out."

Edited 2012-06-29 19:39 (UTC)

"He is," Steve says, with quiet conviction. It's not the only thing that... that Captain America is somehow easier to even think than that Steve Rogers.

It's not the only thing that Captain America is missing out on, though thinking about it all would make Steve feel ill all over again.

"Agent Barton... Clint." Steve speaks quietly enough that the girls would have difficulty overhearing without effort. "They're just that. Our children. No matter what they can do, no matter what they've inherited from me, they're children. And you're scaring them."

Sarah defiantly mutters, "I'm not scared," and sits up a little straighter. Rosalie nods, though still clinging to her mother, and Josephine... has returned to her book and is babbling about it.

Peggy kisses Sarah on the top of her head, gives Rosalie a tiny squeeze at the waist. She's missing out, too -- whatever version of herself existed in Clint's world. But that's not here, not now, where she has a family she would quite literally kill for.

She doesn't add anything, but her expression shows her clear agreement in everything Steve says; she'd have said so herself, had he not beaten her to it.

His brain is still screaming at him to get out of there. And to be honest, he wants to. He doesn't want to be at these people's mercy any longer and he definitely doesn't want to keep looking at a Steve who doesn't know him. But he also doesn't want to freak out and potentially traumatize those children. He takes a breath and takes his seat.

"...I, ah... sorry, kids. I was just playing around." It rings false even to his ears.

"You're a bad liar. I thought agents had to be good liars." Rosalie fends of Josephine's book-related enthusiasm, looks from her mother to Sarah, and pushes herself off of the couch.

There's hesitation, though it's only brief, as she pours a cup of tea and brings it over, standing next to Steve. He knows what she's thinking - it's what he'd do, in this situation. Challenge himself with his own fear. He clasps his hands behind his back and waits for her to work herself up to it.

So here, Clint. Have a cup of tea shoved at you. "You should drink something besides just alcohol. It's bad for you."

Peggy can't help it. She smirks the tiniest bit at Rosalie's plan of attack, and then at Sarah's visible disappointment that she was beaten to it.

And even if it was a bit of a failure on his end, the fact that Clint even tried to placate her daughters earns some points in Peggy's book.

The more he does to prove he's not a complete and total threat, intentionally or otherwise, the less hostile she gets. Even if she recognizes the look of a man ready to bolt at the first opportunity, but she doesn't imagine he'd get very far -- even if he escaped, something about the entire situation makes Peggy think he'd be easy to track back down.

Edited 2012-07-01 05:21 (UTC)

Clint stares at Rosalie for a moment, considers telling her all about how he hates tea because it's a pale and stupid imitation of coffee, and then finds himself reaching for the cup instead.

"Thanks." Then he rolls his eyes a bit. "And you don't need to tell me that, really."

Is Rosalie pleased with herself? Maybe a little. She tugs on Steve's shirt, and he swings her up into his arms. She presses her face against Steve's neck.

"Mommy told Uncle Dugan she'd shoot him if he threw up in the bathroom," she says, like this is an explanation for her explanation.

Steve grins at nothing in particular, managing to keep himself from laughing outright. He gives Rosalie a little bounce. "And we know who'd get stuck cleaning up the mess, huh?"

"You," Rosalie says, soaking in Steve's amusement with four-year-old pride.

More seriously, Steve gives Clint a once-over. "You can stay here, until things get sorted out." He looks once at Peggy for approval before he goes on. "But if you'd rather not... If the idea makes you uncomfortable, there are hotels in the area. We'd have to place an escort with you."

Edited 2012-07-01 05:49 (UTC)

In the deepest, most tucked away part of her, Peggy loves and will never get tired of watching Steve interact with their children. She smiles at the scene softly, then straightens back into business-mode.

Even if she's not home as often as Steve, Peggy thinks at this point she'd still prefer the agent in a place that's easier to keep an eye on him; especially now that she knows he won't harm her daughters.

"Like it or not, you are stuck here for the time being." Here apparently being another time. "We have a guestroom you may use. It's likely the safest place for you, to be frank." It's her approval for Steve's original offer.

She turns to the girls, though Josephine has taken to rambling out the window. She's waving and pointing, but the behavior is so common, none of them give it a second thought. Peggy knows her daughters, at least the elder two, are smart enough to have at least picked up his name by this point, so she doesn't bother with belated proper introductions.

"While he's here, especially among the company of anyone else, let's call him Uncle Barton, all right?"

Clint sips his tea absently and shifts his eyes between Peggy and Steve. As they each offer him a place in their home, he face shifts. It isn't a sad look, or a thankful one--it's rough and almost pained.

"Listen, I really couldn't--uncle?"

The last word comes out in a squeak.

Rosalie rests her head on Steve's shoulder, the length of her day starting to tell. "We have lots of uncles."

Josephine tries to pull Sarah's hair, to get someone to look out the window, but finally gives up and throws herself backwards onto the couch with a cry of, "Ungoobaba!"

It's as close as she'll bother getting to Uncle Barton.

Steve looks over his shoulder at the girl and sighs. "We really need to work on her pronunciation. Look..." He turns back to Clint. "We're friends, aren't we? I mean, the-" Rosalie is watching Clint with a new kind of interest, sucking her thumb absently. Steve draws her hand out of her mouth. "-even if. Things are different now, for the sake of the man you know, let us help you. Please."

The doorbell interrupts before he can say anything else.

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