Bruce likes to fish. He hasn't really had the time in recent years, but he has many fond memories of his Uncle Morris taking him and his younger cousin Jenny out on fishing trips. They would leave late Friday and Uncle Morris would drive all through the night until they reached the cabin. There they would wake early in the morning and trek down the stone path through tall maples and stick thin birches to the dock and the little motor boat Morris kept there. They would pack a cooler full of sandwiches and sodas, and Morris would teach Bruce and Jenny how to thread a line and tie their own hooks, the best way to hook bait, and how to cast. Morris would quiz them on what fish they had caught; was it a rock, large mouth or a small mouth bass, was it a perch or a pike, or did they get unlucky and hook a blue gill. Not only the fish, but Morris would quiz them on their entire surroundings, what is that plant? Cattail or sawgrass? Red eared slider or snapper? What's the difference between common water snake and a water moccasin? Bruce loved those fishing trips, the bonding and carefree atmosphere. There were no expectations, no one breathing down his neck waiting for a misstep to call him out on. During the whole Ultron debacle, Bruce did notice, in passing, that the Barton farm hosted a large pond on the property. He was to occupied at the time to think on it, but a few years later, he finds himself there again under better circumstances. Natasha had dragged him by the nose out to the farm for the Fourth of July weekend, claiming he had cooped himself up in his labs for far to long. And honestly Bruce can't find it in himself to ever deny her again, it hurt to much the first time around, so he once again finds himself a welcomed visitor to the Barton homestead. The Bartons, he finds are happy and thriving; Cooper settling into a mouthy twelve year old, Lila still bright eyed with childhood at ten, and little Nate more often than not running bare-assed on chubby little toddler leg. The little boy lived up to his namesakes; the Barton thirst for danger, as clever and slippery as his Auntie, and as fast and mouthy as the boy they knew from Sokovia. Laura had buckled down and made serious progress with her book chronicling the life and tribulation of the women of the west, ranging from settlers to Native Americans and everyone in between. Clint was happy to set aside his bow and play Dad for the foreseeable future, renovating every corner of his house and beyond, a fairly sophisticated play house was taking shape in the backyard. After a few hours on the farm Bruce can understand why Natasha loved it here. It was so full of life and happy energy, so much so that any of Bruceâs worries and fears melted off his shoulders. He laughed more in that one weekend than in all the years after the accident. It's the morning of the fourth, and Bruce wakes to Clint and Nat trying to organize the children, very much an exercise in futility. Laura tells him that they are off for the pond on their yearly Fourth of July fishing trip, while Clint wades in the mud with the older children and Nat, Laura plans to stay clean up at the house with Nate (who had managed to deviate himself from his shorts once again). Bruce was all to happy to grab an old pair of sneakers and join the little troupe for their day of fishing. As it turned out, Clint and Natasha might be world class assassins and spies, but fishermen they were not. Most of the morning was spent untangling line and going over the basics of casting. After a time everyone got the general hang of the idea, and they sat lined up on the dock with their poles in the water chatting. Cooper and Lila were happy to play Uncle Morrisâs quiz game, Bruce pointing out flora and fauna and the children piping up with what they were, sometimes Clint or Nat would sneak in an inappropriate joke that would sail over the children's heads (though Cooper was starting to become wise to adult jokes). They spent the day reeling in little pond fish, and when that got boring, wading through the mud catching frogs and turtles. Near dusk, the lot of them trudged up the path back to the house, covered head to foot in mud ready for a quick hose down before changing clothes. Their buckets were placed by the back door, empty as any fish that were caught were small and released back into the water. Laura shooed them to hurry up and dress, as dinner was waiting, treating the adults the same as her grimy children. Once when they were clothed and fed, they gathered outside on the porch to watch as Clint fired off some questionably acquired fireworks. Bruce sipped on a cold beer in the heat of the July night, with Natasha leaning on his shoulder, their fingers threaded. The happy awed sound of the Bartons as bright sparkles rained from the sky brought Bruce back to that happy feeling that Uncle Morrisâs Cabin used to bring about. Happy for no reason than because he was, he pulled Nat closer to his side and cheered as a particularly big and loud firework burst over their heads to be reflected in the pond.
