Banner ruffles a hand through his hair, and lets out a slow breath. Laughing a little, despite himself.
Thereās only so much you can avoid somebody that steadfast. Even heās only human.
Or, you know, whatever passes for human these days.
A large part of him aches, against his will, for what the farmhouse must be like now. The wood stove blazing. Full of light. The few drafts there are to speak of only keeping it from getting uncomfortably hot.
The kids- Christ, the kids, three of them now, all running and thinking and feeling and wanting- dashing around, a merry whirlwind of noise and lust for life. He swallowed, shutting his eyes.
None of them would ever think twice about going under the tree with fallen needles stabbing at their soft little knees through their pajamas to look at the lights from some secret place, out of the way of the wrong kind of noise shaking the walls down, or worse-
Jesus. Not one of them, not one, would ever be afraid to open a present because they knew theyād suffer the consequences of doing it wrong. Or doing it right.
He calls back a couple days later. Heās beyond relieved to leave a voicemail (that warmth, that consideration- it could be corrosive at close range).
āHey, Clint. Just got your call. Iām back in Oklahoma, actually, so warm enough. You didnāt have to do anything, but you knew that- send it to Broxton and itāll make its way to the Ark. Thatās where Iām parked for the time being. They, uh. They donāt really do a lot of- you know.
āIāll drop by sometime when all this is over; if you were thinking about sooner I canāt say Iād recommend coming over here yourself. Thereās- things,ā he says, biting his tongue before he reveals too much about somebody who is supposed to be undeniably and reliably dead.
ā-that might not be great for you to see. Echoes, yāknow. Anyway. It was good of you to call. Appreciate it. Give my best to Laura and the kids. Sentiments of the season and all that. Bye.ā
Clint only just misses Bruceās call, coming in about ten minutes after. He listens to it once, writing down the instructions that Bruce gives on where to send things. Heāll get the few hand warmers and gloves in the mail tomorrow, itās too late by now, the post office will close before heāll be able to get everything together.
Heās listening it through a second time (Old habits die hard, after all), when Lila and Coop walk in from school, full of chatter. The moment they hear Bruceās voice, it shoots up to Eleven, and heās gotta laugh at them while they fire question after question at him, making it so that heās gotta stop the machine so he can even understand them, signing at them to slow down, one at a time!
He lets them listen again, before grabbing after-school snacks, and sending them up to their rooms to start homework (āJust this once, and we donāt tell mom, howās that?ā)
A fourth run through, and heās fairly sure he knows what he wants to say. Bruce sounds so sad each time he calls. Each time, he wonders how much of it is Bruceās head telling him lies about just who cares for him, and how much of it is whatever fucked-up childhood Bruce had. He doesnāt know much, but he knows that it wasnāt nice. Lots of yelling, at the very least.
They must be playing phone tag, cus he gets Bruceās voice-mail too. Either that, or Bruce is screening his calls. Not that Clint blames him, hell, he hardly picks up anymore if he doesnāt know the number.
āTag, youāre it. Laur would have sent pies, but she doesnāt want em to go off. The kiddos heard the last half of your message, and wouldnāt stop asking me what ya want for Christmas, cus they really wanna give ya something. Am I allowed to ask what kinda things I shouldnāt be seeing, or is that telling too much? Itās cool if itās no. Remember how my kids had named a little hen after you? Well we ended up keeping a few of her eggs, and letting it hatch, and now thereās āThe Incredible Bulkā running around. Heās a real beautiful black-green old English bantam, which I know is gonna mean eff-all to ya, but heās a pretty little chicken. And a very sweet man too, likes being picked up and held. A very kind chicken.ā
āYou should come over, Iāve got a few new horses I think youād probably like. Theyāre good critters. Hopefully weāll see ya soon, Bruce. We all miss ya. Have a great day.ā
