"I can make toast," Natasha says with a decisive nod, "and I am absolutely bragging." Whenever she's in charge of breakfast for Cooper and Lila, it ends up being toast and hot chocolate. If the kids are upset with the limited food, the chocolate keeps them quiet. The chocolate and the cartoons.
Natasha lays her head against Steve's shoulder, watching the television and sipping her champagne. "I'd get so fat." There might be something wistful there, though. A normal life. She's sure she would get bored, but maybe being bored might be nice once in a while. Being mundane and normal. Having to make the choices that normal people make. Or, no, not even that, but getting to make those choices for herself. She's sure she wouldn't actually choose the white picket fence and the dog and the PTA meetings. It all sounds horrible, but the choice should have been hers, not someone else's.
She doesn't say any of this, but she drains her glass and then holds it out to Steve for a refill. "We could go to a carnival when this is over. If you want."
Steve snorts at that, finding himself amused. "I'm in awe. I'm not sure I could compete with your supreme toast-making skills." He's teasing her only because he's sure she won't take it to heart. She knows he doesn't mean any true harm by it.
Her next gesture quiets him promptly, though, and he glances down briefly just as she rests her head against his shoulder. "I don't think I'd mind being fat, in those circumstances." He wonders if he'd be bored half to death, though. He can't even remember what it's like to live a life of peace and quiet— he's not even sure anymore he ever had that in his life, really. Sometimes it feels as though he never did.
So there's something a hint wistful in his expression, in the soft tone of his voice when he answers her invitation of sorts. Maybe a date, maybe not. He's fairly sure Natasha doesn't care enough to define things like that, even if Steve would. Ordinarily, anyway. "Sounds like fun. I'd like that a lot." Reaching for the bottle, he tops up her glass, then his own while he's at it.
She takes another sip, pulling out her phone to go a little google-fu. There's a state fair in Texas next week. It's a good place to go and blend in with an insanely large crowd. Also, they'll have all the best deep fried atrocities, and some pretty good rides, and the fireworks will be pretty much guaranteed to knock their socks off. The whole place will smell faintly of manure, but certain concessions must be made.
"You know, you've got one of those faces... you'd probably look cute even with a little gut. Not too big. Just one of those suburban dad beer bellies." On the screen, the host is showing the camera a delicious looking slice of incredibly cheesy pepperoni pizza. Which, yes, it looks wonderful, but it's hardly exceptional. Natasha's confusion only lasts for the barest moment, and then she's chanting quietly, almost like she's daring someone to do something risky and fun. "Deep fry it, deep fry it, deep fry it, deep fry it."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Natasha lays her head against Steve's shoulder, watching the television and sipping her champagne. "I'd get so fat." There might be something wistful there, though. A normal life. She's sure she would get bored, but maybe being bored might be nice once in a while. Being mundane and normal. Having to make the choices that normal people make. Or, no, not even that, but getting to make those choices for herself. She's sure she wouldn't actually choose the white picket fence and the dog and the PTA meetings. It all sounds horrible, but the choice should have been hers, not someone else's.
She doesn't say any of this, but she drains her glass and then holds it out to Steve for a refill. "We could go to a carnival when this is over. If you want."
no subject
Her next gesture quiets him promptly, though, and he glances down briefly just as she rests her head against his shoulder. "I don't think I'd mind being fat, in those circumstances." He wonders if he'd be bored half to death, though. He can't even remember what it's like to live a life of peace and quiet— he's not even sure anymore he ever had that in his life, really. Sometimes it feels as though he never did.
So there's something a hint wistful in his expression, in the soft tone of his voice when he answers her invitation of sorts. Maybe a date, maybe not. He's fairly sure Natasha doesn't care enough to define things like that, even if Steve would. Ordinarily, anyway. "Sounds like fun. I'd like that a lot." Reaching for the bottle, he tops up her glass, then his own while he's at it.
no subject
"You know, you've got one of those faces... you'd probably look cute even with a little gut. Not too big. Just one of those suburban dad beer bellies." On the screen, the host is showing the camera a delicious looking slice of incredibly cheesy pepperoni pizza. Which, yes, it looks wonderful, but it's hardly exceptional. Natasha's confusion only lasts for the barest moment, and then she's chanting quietly, almost like she's daring someone to do something risky and fun. "Deep fry it, deep fry it, deep fry it, deep fry it."