“No. What are you doing?” Lightning quick, Clint’s hand shot up and grabbed Scott’s wrist before he had a chance to press the overhead call button.
“I’m out of coffee.” He struggled a bit, impressed by Clint’s unyielding grip. Scott had been finding himself impressed by a lot of things over the past few hours. Not the least of which included walking into his apartment after dropping Cassie off to find Clint Barton, freaking Hawkeye, standing still as a statue in his living room and holding out a cell phone connected to a call from Captain America himself. Not quite as cool as Steve Rogers having his personal number, but still. Pretty damn cool.
Captain America needed him. Him. Steve Rogers, America’s hero turned renegade, needed him. Scott Lang. Very, very cool.
“No. No more coffee.” Clint’s stare was like steel. “This flight is long. You need to sleep while you can.” He maintained his hold on Scott’s arm.
“You…” Scott couldn’t help the nervous bit of laughter. “You are very strong. So strong. And intimidating.” Rolling his head back along his pink Hello Kitty neck support pillow, he leaned over to Wanda in the window seat next to him and stage whispered, “No wonder he’s an Avenger. I mean, look how intimidating he is. I’m actually scared he’s going to break my wrist right now.” Wanda quirked an eyebrow in response, but didn’t look up from the in-flight magazine she was flipping through.
Unaffected by Wanda’s indifference he turned to Clint with a wide smile. “Fun fact, I laugh when I’m nervous. An- and smile. And, you wouldn’t really would you? Break it, I mean?”
Clint narrowed his eyes and cocked his head a bit to the side. Everything about his demeanor screamed ’try me,’ though he loosened his hold just a fraction.
With a nod, Scott swallowed hard. His knee was bouncing with pent up energy, and he drummed the fingers of his free hand rapidly on the little fold down tray. “Good, good. Because it’s just that…” Without hesitation, his free hand darted up and pressed the call button. “I hate flying, and coffee actually calms me down, even though I hate the taste of it, and I need…”
“Up. You. Now.” Clint stood and tried to pull Scott up with him, jarring the tray table and forgetting about the seatbelt. He released Scott's wrist with a growl and crossed his arms over his chest.
"Wha- Jeez. Where are we going?" Scott fumbled with the seatbelt, getting himself tangled in the scratchy little blanket the airline had provided. He reached down to pull on his shoes and sent a cascade of paper cups, snack wrappers, and other assorted nonsense rolling under the seats in front of him when he bumped the tray table.
"Sorry. Sorry sorry," he mumbled as he began shoving things into his pockets and jostled the seats in front of him. Still tangled in the blanket, Scott nearly toppled back into Wanda's lap before she put up her hand and he froze mid awkward flail.
Finally looking to Clint, Wanda smirked, and rubbed her thumb lightly over the tips of her fingers, generating a small, glowing, red burst of ether next to Scott's head. "Do you want me to…"
Clint smirked right back and hummed as if considering it. "Better not."
"So cool." Scott's eyes followed the wisps of red. He and Wanda both looked disappointed when she extinguished the spark.
"Too bad." She pushed Scott up to standing and cause the blanket to fall away without actually touching him.
"Did you see that?" Scott looked awestruck as he glanced between Clint and Wanda.
Rolling her eyes, Wanda retrieved her magazine. "Maybe later?" She shrugged and flipped another page.
"Probably later." Clint pushed Scott down into his abandoned aisle seat, used his foot to nudge Scott's mess over, and squeezed into Scott's old middle seat. "Damn economy class," he mumbled.
Toeing off his shoes once more, Scott stacked up his empty coffee cups, fastened his seatbelt, tucked his blanket around himself, and adjusted the neck pillow that had never actually moved out of place. "I'm surprised they didn't send a jet or something for us."
Clint paused partway through reclining his seat and sat back up. "They? They who, Lang?" His steely gaze returned. "Please, enlighten us."
"I- I, uh, I don't... know? 'They.' The super secret super… hero…" Cutting himself off, Scott frowned. "Uhm…"
"SHIELD? You think SHIELD wants any part of this? SHIELD barely exists at the moment, and what's left is probably going to side with the Sokovia decision." Clint motioned to Wanda and back to Scott. "It's just us, pal. Rogers is going off book with this one. We're about to face people I know and care about. My friends. Family. This is not…" He shook his head. "Whatever you think this is, it's not. And if you're not up for a fight, and for being seen as one of the 'bad guys,' then we'll get you on the next return flight home and you can shotgun all the airline coffee you want."
Clint and Scott stared grimly at each other. Wanda had laid her magazine aside, and sat with her head down and her arms crossed almost defensively.
"I…" Scott looked away first, and noticed the flight attendant making his way down the aisle. He turned back to Clint and Wanda. "I was just talking about leg room." He tried to stretch his legs out and jarred the seat in front of him. "Maybe spring for business class next time?"
"Are you insane?" Clint huffed. "Who's paying for…"
"Gentlemen. Ma'am. Did you need anything?" The attendant ducked down and plastered on an unconvincing smile to talk to them.
"Thank you so much for asking," Scott beamed up at him. "I would love a cup of coffee please. Three creamers. Six sugars." The flight attendant's smile slipped. Clint grimaced. Scott turned to Clint and Wanda then. "Coffee? You two? Anything? No?" He faced the flight attendant once more. "A coffee for my friend, please. Water for the lady. And snacks all around. Trail mix if you have it, please."
Heaving a long suffering sigh, the flight attendant nodded, smoothed his uniform, and headed back up the aisle.
"I'm not drinking that… whatever that abomination is you ordered. That's not coffee." Clint closed his eyes and laid his seat back.
"I didn't actually get it for you anyway." Scott rearranged the pile of stuff on his tray table.
"And that's why you're moved to the aisle seat. When you start running to the john every twenty minutes, you're not climbing over top of me." With a groan, Clint shifted, trying to get comfortable.
"I wouldn't." Scott scoffed. "I have an iron will. You'll see. I can make it all the way to… Where are we going?"
"Germany." Opening one eye, Clint smirked. "You have to go right now, don't you?"
"No. No, I don't. I'm fine. I'm…" With a huff, Scott carefully, but efficiently, moved his things from his tray, disentangled himself from his blanket, slipped his shoes on and stood. "Fine. Fine, I have to go. Are you happy? Dad." In an uncomfortable display, Scott and another passenger bumped and tangled together as they tried to pass, almost upsetting the flight attendant's cart.
Clint glanced at Wanda, who was watching the spectacle with mild amusement. "I'm trading our tickets for the flight home up to business class. He can wear the suit and ride in my carry-on."
Wanda laughed and patted his hand. "We're going to be glad to have him." Her gaze clouded, looking miles away and suddenly sad. "We're going to need him," she whispered.
"Hey. You okay?" Clint turned his hand over to hold hers.
"Something's coming. Something… someone big. But I can't… I don't..."
"Hey guys!" Scott called from across the cabin, to the chagrin of every other passenger. "They're gonna let me meet the captain! How cool is that?"
Clint dropped his head back against the headrest and covered his eyes with his arm. "I am gonna make Rogers pay for this." He uncovered one eye and looked up at Wanda. "You should try to sleep."
Wanda squeezed his hand and rested her head on his shoulder. "You too, Clint. You rest now too," she whispered.