Chapter Text
Sam stumbled in the living room, a sports drink in his hand and glaring at Steve who came a few minutes earlier. He had made the mistake to go jogging with him again. He stopped, when he saw Clint, sitting on the couch and watching Natasha watching TV. It was weird because Nat yelled at the TV almost constantly.
“Goddammit, move your lazy ass… my grandma is faster than you and she’s dead… I can sit faster than you run… what the fuck is that? Is he out of his mind?... What are you doing, for crying out loud… oh come on, you can’t just pass to that… goddammit! Is that referee blind? That was never offside!... Fuck!! Fuck!!... come on, yeah, yeah, yeah… YAaaaahhh!!!” She jumped up, both hands in the air and grinned like a madman.
Steve sat on the couch between Nat and Clint, his feet on the table. He had showered already and grinned at Sam who shuffled to the armchair and flopped down, too. He was quiet for a long moment while Natasha still yelled at the TV.
“I had no idea that you’re into soccer,” he said casually and took a sip from his drink. It became quiet in the room aside from the sounds from the TV. Clint’s eyes were wide as saucers and he shook his head and Steve moved his finger in front of his throat as if he wanted to cut it.
“What?” Natasha asked slowly and Sam frowned.
“You know… soccer…” he said and gestured at the TV. Clint’s head moved more frantically and Steve waved with both hands. “I thought you’re more a hockey fan.”
“Soccer?” Nat said way too calm and Sam furrowed his brows when he saw Clint's and Steve’s reaction.
“Yeah… uhm…” he said, “the game.” He pointed at the TV again. Natasha scrutinized him for a long moment before she took a breath.
“That’s football,” she said and Sam cocked his head.
“I’m pretty sure it’s called soccer,” he said. Clint facepalmed and Steve leaned back with a pained sound.
“Okay,” Natasha said. “Because you’re new here, this,” she pointed at the TV, “is football. Everywhere in the world it’s called football. Got it?”
“But… I know football, I played football and…” Sam started but Natasha interrupted him.
“No, no, no,” she said and smiled that scary smile she always smiled, “that’s not football.” She pointed at the TV, “This is football because they use a ball and they play it with their feet. The game you played… they don’t use a ball but a weird egg-shaped leather thingy and they don’t even use their feet to play it, they carry it around in their hands. It should be called ‘Weird-egg-shaped-leather-thingy-carry-around-game’. This on the other hand... Ball and played with feet,” she made a go-on gesture with her hand, “football.”
“O-kay,” Sam said slowly but before he could say more Clint was on him, grabbed his arm and dragged him out of the room.
“See you later, Nat,” he called over his shoulder. “Have fun and I hope ManU wins!”
“Man United!” She called after him and Clint waved but closed the door as fast as possible. “The fuck!” he said as soon as they were outside. “Do you have a death wish?”
“What? It was just…”
“Do not ever call that game soccer again,” he said. “Nat’s a little… obsessed and she doesn’t like it when someone calls it soccer.”
“But…” Sam started but Clint interrupted him.
“Don’t try to argue with her about it,” he smirked. “And I mean it, don’t try to argue with her about it. She’s going to wipe the floor with your ass… and I like to do different things with it.”
“Yeah?” Sam asked and smiled. “Like what?”
“Come with me to the shower and I’ll show you,” Clint said and waggled his brows.
“I like the way you think.”