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Summary: (Sam Wilson x reader, FalconCap humor/fluff) After the events of EndGame, the remaining Avengers head out on a mandatory team building exercise at your cattle ranch. The week turns out as unexpected for you as the idea was for them. (Part 1)
Prompt/Request: âIs that a horse?! Do I look like a cowboy to you?â For mine and @justsomebuckyâs Cap² Challenge. I separated the prompt a little for flow, but I think I kept the spirit of it.
Warnings: None. Probably swearing. Iâve got a mouth and I canât control it.
Word Count: 2471
âAlright,â you smiled up at Sam slowing to a stop on a ridge. Your herd of hearty western cattle stood below, dark specks still as stone in the sea of pale green and soft brown winter prairie.
Sam took a deep sigh and let it out in a quick puff through pursed lips. âSo this is the job, huh?â
âNot so bad, right?â
âDefinitely seen worse.â He grinned as he said it, turning to you in the bright mid-day sun.
That damn smile again. It had the heat creeping up your cheeks. You turned your head, pretending to check a strap on your saddle to hide it.
You heard his laugh, more of a soft chuckle. Apparently, you werenât very discrete after all. It seemed, though, that Sam enjoyed this little game even more than you did. The little glances, the smiles, moving a little closer every now and again. Youâd bet the barn he was doing it on purpose: making you squirm like that.
âYouâre calling the shots, I take it?â
He nodded, looking over the valley as the others circled the area, pushing the cattle into a tighter herd at your staffâs encouragement.
âWell, before the real work beginsâŚâ
Sam raised his eyebrows with a slow grin as you pulled a bottle of whiskey out of your saddlebag.
âDonât judge me,â you defended. âI know Iâve earned it. Getting you comfortable in a saddle, city-Sam.â
He laughed, rich and sweet. The sound tangled in your ears with the creaking of leather as you leaned in your saddle to pass the bottle. You and your horse moved as one most of the time and she took it as a cue to side-step.
The movement pushed your hand into Samâs and god, just that simple brush of skin was enough to light a fire somewhere deep in the center of your spine. The flames licked up your neck while the smile on your face froze at the unexpected contact and turned to something soft, nervous and brimming with anticipation.
You felt Samâs eyes skim over your face, deep and burning like a canyon at sunset. The air clung to your skin, like even it dared not move.
The sharp pop of a whip down below finally cracked through the moment and it was gone as unexpectedly as it had come.
Sam looked alarmed, eyes darting around the perimeter of the clearing, while yours simply scanned the loose corner of the herd where one of the ranch hands was urging an eager bull back into the fold.
âItâs just a whip, Sam.â Your voice was soft and he was glad.
âI thought it wasâŚâ he shook his head, half a smile on his lips, and half a frown in his eyes. âIt sounded like a handgun.â
âNot that kind of job.â You tipped the bottle toward him again, a small sympathetic smile on your lips. While gunfire was far from a rarity here, it didnât carry the same meaning it did for Sam. It didnât mean a fight or a mission. It was a part of life for you both, but yours, you realized, was far more sedate thanks to Sam and the others riding out over your land that day.
This time he took the bottle and scowled at the label.
âThought I was calling the shots.â
You laughed, reaching into your pocket for a tiny flask. âFine. You want the good stuff; you gotta earn it out there.â
âAlright, letâs do this.â The words were a damp growl after the stiff sip of locally distilled bourbon.
Together you talked through the positions and the skills of his teammates.
âIâd set your best rider behind, someone to chase down stragglersââ
âClint,â Sam decided without hesitation. âHeâs got a good eye. Heâll take the high ground.â
âGood,â you nodded your agreement.
The others fell into positions easily, and you began driving the cattle up toward fresh pasture. With a signal from Sam, Bruce opened the hatch of the pick-up truck and 3 speckled cattle dogs lept out, barking and racing. They would do the leg-work, circling the herd and keeping a tight migration up to the cooler edge of the peaks, just breaking with green spring grass.
Sam ranged up and down the side of the group, watching, calling orders, drawing the group and the job into a cohesive unit. They moved as one, cutting across the fields like the shadow of a cloud.
Soon enough the team settled into the work, into their roles and their familiarity with each other. Sam was a natural leader and there was comfort in that. It allowed the others the freedom to do what they needed to do. He made it easy and it wasnât long before theyâd begun shouting jabs at each other.
âRhodes that calfâs gonna make a run for it!â Bruce called over the roar of the diesel engine in which he rode. He pointed over the cab of the truck. âAh itâs too late,â he laughed, waving a dismissive hand through the air as James tried to encourage his horse into a faster pace to head off the little cow. âItâs too late, man.â
Clint, slightly bored bringing up the rear on his own, had stopped to fashion himself a slingshot and had taken to firing pebbles at the back of Buckyâs neck. Wanda couldnât stop giggling at the irritation rising pink in his cheeks, along with a smirk and a shake of his head. Clint knew he was going to wake up with his boots full of manure or his clothes in the creek. Worth the risk, heâd decided.
âThat your cousin?â Bucky called, looking over his shoulder at Sam with a wicked grin. He pointed a glimmering metal hand up into the sky at the large bird circling the top of the hill.
âHilarious,â Sam rolled his eyes. You, however, pulled the binoculars hanging at your chest up to your eyes.
âSorry, soldier,â you hollered with a wink toward Sam, âFalcons stick to the canyon around here. Thatâs a Cooperâs Hawk.â
âClint, thatâs you!â Wanda shouted happily; turning almost completely around, hand on the back of her saddle.
Just as Clint looked over, the raptor soared for only a moment longer before pitching downward. It dove for a prairie dog at a shocking pace. Unsuccessful.
âFaceplant out of a tree,â Rhodes chuckled. âYeah, thatâs a Clint move.â
The ribbing continued until youâd urged the cattle up the hills under the slender, bone-white trunks of an aspen grove. Green shimmering leaves had just begun to sprout and the river bubbled its soft laugh nearby. It was a perfect spot to set up camp for the night. The Avengers had done well, but unused to full days riding; theyâd need to find their sea-legs again.
âOh damn,â Sam complained, half groan, half sigh. He waddled toward the warmth of the fire. âNow I know why everybody in those old westerns walked like they just got their asses beat. Literally.â
You laughed, hard. âYou a little saddle sore?â
âIs that what the kids are calling it these days?â Bucky interjected, handing over a sleeve of re-hydrated rice and beef. Dinner on the trail.
âI donât have the energy to explain how the birds and the bees work right now, Bucky. Use your imagination.â
You enjoyed Samâs company a lot. You also really enjoyed the way he interacted with each of his team members. He was a chameleon. He seemed to sense what everyone needed and adapt accordingly. Bucky needed to not be handled with kid gloves, to be treated normally. Their unending banter was as much a defining feature of their friendship, as it was a credit to Samâs perceptiveness and ability to meet his friends where they needed it.
A natural leader even when he wasnât trying.
The full days ride in the long summer sun had thoroughly worn out your guests and your staff alike. They had retired into the safety of their tents, tucked into warm synthetic down sleeping bags rolled out over top of the line sleeping pads.
You, however, were never one for tents. This land was your home and you felt no need to hide from it.
When you heard the soft shuffle of feet on the packed grass and dirt, you turned your head from its place on your bent forearm.
âMind if I join you?â Sam asked quietly, hovering at the edge of the fading firelight.
âIs everything alright with your sleeping arrangements?â you asked, pushing up onto your elbows and preparing to accommodate your guest. This was a business, after all. âCan I get you somethiââ
âNo! No.â He was quick to dispel your worries. âYouâve beenâEverythingâs great.â
You nodded and waited, stretching back out onto your deep green wool blanket. It had been in your family for generations, had spread under these stars for countless nights.
âI just uh,â he paused, scratching the back of his neck and stepping closer. âI did two tours, and then all this. The Avengers thing. Â You get used to sleeping with your head on a rock and itâs hard to go back. Sometimes you start to think you shouldnât get too comfortable, you know?â
You chewed on the inside of your lip and nodded. You didnât know. His experience was unique, certainly a world away from your own. But a life spent out here, with just the sound of the wind in the grass and the crash of thunder off the mountains, youâd become a good listener.
âWell,â you answered slowly, patting the clay-hardened earth beside you. âThere are plenty of rocks around here.â
He grinned. It was a new one for you, and it warmed you from the inside out. Just a simple tip of his lips to one side, a brightening of the glint in his eyes and you were closing your own, memorizing it and willing yourself to breathe.
He settled himself next to you, mimicking your posture and hooking a thickly chiseled arm behind his head. The heat of his skin burned warmer than the fire as his free arm pressed against yours from shoulder to fingertip. Well your fingertips, anyway.
âWhat are you doinâ out here?â he asked, turning up onto his side to fix you with a steady gaze.
It took you a moment to figure out how words worked again.
âI uh,â You shrugged. âI like it.â
His laugh was full and soft at the same time. You continued to marvel at the depth of mirth that spilled out of this man. He was a well of warmth and kindness, like that old familiar blanket that you always want to wrap around your shoulders and fall asleep under, safe and content.
âYou pretty much do exactly what you want, donât you?â he asked, smile pulling his full lips wide and tight. His eyes, though, were serious, slightly narrowed while he studied you in the dying firelight.
âPretty much,â you chuckled, repeating his words back, hardly able to hold a conversation under that look.
Your entire body was drawn to it. You turned onto your side to face him full on, curling your knees to steady yourself. It was all in the eyes for you. God you could watch them all day, but here, in the firelight, it was like staring at a beach just after sunset: warm and dark and shimmering with something golden. He was like the familiar comfort of soft worn leather, and he smelled of it after a dayâs ride. What you wouldnât give to have his arms around you.
âYou know you have that power now too, right?â you asked quietly. âYouâre giving the orders now, Captain.â You smiled because it wasnât really your place. Your job here was to help people see their own potential, find their role among their group. Be it a family, a business, or, in the oddest of cases, the Avengers. But lying side by side under the stars wasnât exactly in the list of services either. This wasnât business, this was personal.
âI know.â Sam took in a slow deep breath and let it out between pursed lips. âDoesnât quite feel like it yet.â
âYou know, this place was supposed to go to my older brother?â you asked. It was rhetorical of course, so Sam just listened, watching the bittersweet smile tug over your lips. âThatâs how it goes out here. Traditions have a way of stickinâ. Anyway. He went to the stock show in the city. Got one look at what couldâve been and knew that was what he wanted. He never looked back.â
Samâs large hand smoothed over your arm before it came to rest curling through your fingers. âThat must have been challenging.â
You shrugged. âNot everybody understands it. His decision,â you explained. âBut it was his to make. And now this is mine. And I donât carry his or anyone elseâs decisions around on my back.â
You squeezed his hand when he nodded, letting his eyes fall.
âAnd that shield?â you urged. âThatâs yours.â
âYouâre damn right it is,â Sam grinned, curling your joined hands up to his chest. Your heart stuttered with the warmth and the intimacy of the act. It was like heâd pulled you closer body and soul. You barely knew him but you were hooked.
âSo when you get home,â You ducked your head to kiss his knuckles and curl closer. ââŚyou tell that Mission Coordinator of yours that as great this week has been, your team is never getting on horseback again!â
His laughter was a welcome sound, and a soft shudder in your own rib-cage.
Two weeks later, the team had been training together like a well-oiled machine at the compound and Maria couldnât be more proud of herself for her obscure choice of team building exercise.
Like every other morning that summer, after a long run in the mid-summer heat, the east-coast humidity stuck to Sam like a second skin. He tugged at the collar of his shirt, fanning himself lightly with it as he jogged up the steps to his townhome.
He frowned down at the little package on the stoop, and picked it up. He hadnât been expecting anything, but when he saw flying K brand stamped in heavy black ink over the seam, he grinned and took a seat right there in the sun.
Inside the box he found a small bottle of whiskey from a distillery nestled into the same valley as your ranch. Heâd bet his wings it was the same as had been in your little pocket flask, and he laughed at the memory. The note tied to the neck of the bottle read:
âA shot for the guy calling all the shots. Give âem hell, Cap.â