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fandomweekly2016-05-30 11:45 am
iluvroadrunner6) wrote in fandomweekly2016-05-30 11:45 am
Entry tags:
[#015] Our Piece of Americana (MCU)
Theme Prompt: #015 - Patriotism
Title: Our Piece of Americana
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Rating/Warnings: PG-13
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 676
Summary: It’s the kind of heat that clings to your skin, makes it hard to breathe, and motivates Sam Wilson to do … absolutely nothing. Thankfully, Clint Barton is essentially of the same mind.
Memorial Day usually brings the kind of sticky heat and humidity that is indicative of arriving summer. It’s the kind of heat that clings to your skin, makes it hard to breathe, and motivates Sam Wilson to do … absolutely nothing. Thankfully, Clint Barton is essentially of the same mind.
The coffee table in front of the TV was a scatter of paper plates stained with the grease and condiments from the burgers Laura had grilled up earlier as well as half-empty beers condensing onto coasters. The baseball game on TV is chattering in the background – White Sox vs. Mets – interspersed with presidential ads littered with mentions of better immigrations policies, fighting back against the Inhuman/vigilante threat, and Sam easily tunes it out, focusing on the delicious food in front of him instead.
“You’re the best,” he grins up at Laura as she hands him a fresh burger. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” she says as she returns the smile, making her way around to reload her husband’s plate as well.
“Can I ask you something, though? Why on Earth would someone as wonderful as you marry this idiot?” Sam teases, and Clint turns from Laura with a Look.
“Easy.”
Laura, on the other hand, laughs, before holding up a plate loaded with three burgers and a lump of potato salad. “Where’d Steve go?”
“He objects to the existence of the Mets as a whole, so he took the kids outside.” Clint smirks. “You probably should go save him.” Laura nods before going to do just that. Not that Steve really needs to be saved, necessarily – spending time with the kids is one of his favorite things – but he also probably needs to eat to keep his strength up, and the kids shouldn’t spend too much time in the heat.
Silence falls back between the two men on the couch again, and as the game breaks between innings, one of those generic “Happy Memorial Day” commercials comes up and Clint tips his head to the side pensively.
“Why Falcon?”
“What?” Sam blinks, turning to glance over at his friend for the sudden change of subject. “What do you mean?”
“Your codename. Why Falcon?”
“Why Hawkeye?”
“Because I can hit a moving target in midair from the top of a building without even looking.” Clint reaches forward to grab his beer before turning to face Sam more. “You spend most of your time with Captain America. Wouldn’t a more patriotic bird codename have been Eagle?”
Sam squints at him for a moment, before shaking his head. “First of all, have you seen an eagle before? They have zero maneuverability? Falcons on the other hand, they zip around like crazy, and they’re just cooler.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Secondly, Captain America may work for Steve, but no one is that patriotic these days without it coming across as cheesy. You did see the disaster that was the Iron Patriot?” Clint makes a face and Sam points a finger at him in response. “See? That’s exactly what I mean. War Machine is much cooler.”
“Okay. You have a point.”
“Besides. I may work with Steve, but it’s not like I’m his sidekick.”
“I think you’re pretty close to sidekick territory there, buddy.”
“You mean like you’re Natasha’s sidekick?”
Clint almost looks offended. “I am not Natasha’s sidekick. I am a trained former SHIELD operative. I recruited her. If anything, she’s my – ”
“Do you really want to finish that sentence?”
“We’re not sidekicks. We’re partners.” Clint watches as Sam just gives him this silent look before huffing and letting it go. “Fine. No one’s anyone’s sidekick.”
“Good. I’m glad we agree.”
Both men turn their attention back to the game again and wince as the Mets choke on yet another play. “Man, were the Mets always this bad?” Sam asks, seemingly baffled.
“Yes,” Steve says pointedly as he swings back into the farmhouse and heads for the kitchen for a beer. “The Mets are always that bad.”
Both men laugh, before shaking their heads. “Whatever you say, Cap,” Sam sighs. “Whatever you say.”
Title: Our Piece of Americana
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Rating/Warnings: PG-13
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 676
Summary: It’s the kind of heat that clings to your skin, makes it hard to breathe, and motivates Sam Wilson to do … absolutely nothing. Thankfully, Clint Barton is essentially of the same mind.
Memorial Day usually brings the kind of sticky heat and humidity that is indicative of arriving summer. It’s the kind of heat that clings to your skin, makes it hard to breathe, and motivates Sam Wilson to do … absolutely nothing. Thankfully, Clint Barton is essentially of the same mind.
The coffee table in front of the TV was a scatter of paper plates stained with the grease and condiments from the burgers Laura had grilled up earlier as well as half-empty beers condensing onto coasters. The baseball game on TV is chattering in the background – White Sox vs. Mets – interspersed with presidential ads littered with mentions of better immigrations policies, fighting back against the Inhuman/vigilante threat, and Sam easily tunes it out, focusing on the delicious food in front of him instead.
“You’re the best,” he grins up at Laura as she hands him a fresh burger. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” she says as she returns the smile, making her way around to reload her husband’s plate as well.
“Can I ask you something, though? Why on Earth would someone as wonderful as you marry this idiot?” Sam teases, and Clint turns from Laura with a Look.
“Easy.”
Laura, on the other hand, laughs, before holding up a plate loaded with three burgers and a lump of potato salad. “Where’d Steve go?”
“He objects to the existence of the Mets as a whole, so he took the kids outside.” Clint smirks. “You probably should go save him.” Laura nods before going to do just that. Not that Steve really needs to be saved, necessarily – spending time with the kids is one of his favorite things – but he also probably needs to eat to keep his strength up, and the kids shouldn’t spend too much time in the heat.
Silence falls back between the two men on the couch again, and as the game breaks between innings, one of those generic “Happy Memorial Day” commercials comes up and Clint tips his head to the side pensively.
“Why Falcon?”
“What?” Sam blinks, turning to glance over at his friend for the sudden change of subject. “What do you mean?”
“Your codename. Why Falcon?”
“Why Hawkeye?”
“Because I can hit a moving target in midair from the top of a building without even looking.” Clint reaches forward to grab his beer before turning to face Sam more. “You spend most of your time with Captain America. Wouldn’t a more patriotic bird codename have been Eagle?”
Sam squints at him for a moment, before shaking his head. “First of all, have you seen an eagle before? They have zero maneuverability? Falcons on the other hand, they zip around like crazy, and they’re just cooler.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Secondly, Captain America may work for Steve, but no one is that patriotic these days without it coming across as cheesy. You did see the disaster that was the Iron Patriot?” Clint makes a face and Sam points a finger at him in response. “See? That’s exactly what I mean. War Machine is much cooler.”
“Okay. You have a point.”
“Besides. I may work with Steve, but it’s not like I’m his sidekick.”
“I think you’re pretty close to sidekick territory there, buddy.”
“You mean like you’re Natasha’s sidekick?”
Clint almost looks offended. “I am not Natasha’s sidekick. I am a trained former SHIELD operative. I recruited her. If anything, she’s my – ”
“Do you really want to finish that sentence?”
“We’re not sidekicks. We’re partners.” Clint watches as Sam just gives him this silent look before huffing and letting it go. “Fine. No one’s anyone’s sidekick.”
“Good. I’m glad we agree.”
Both men turn their attention back to the game again and wince as the Mets choke on yet another play. “Man, were the Mets always this bad?” Sam asks, seemingly baffled.
“Yes,” Steve says pointedly as he swings back into the farmhouse and heads for the kitchen for a beer. “The Mets are always that bad.”
Both men laugh, before shaking their heads. “Whatever you say, Cap,” Sam sighs. “Whatever you say.”
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