HISTORY, steve rogers

003. COLLIDE

AMON EYES the building in front of him.

"This is where Captain America is staying?" he asks Lang, who's rubbing his arm from where Amon was throwing steel balls at it.

Lang looks over, then back to the shack that's posing as Captain America's home. He scratches the back of his head. "It's, uh — It's better on the inside?"

Amon laughs. "Well, let's see, Scotty."

Amon flings his hand up, and the building in front of them starts to shake. Lang makes a noise, then an aborted move toward Amon, but is stopped when the building starts to turn opaque.

"I..." Lang's eyes are wide as he watches Amon's show. The walls are gone now, just a roof that hangs over a space that's neat and has three people hovering over a table. Amon's straightening his posture involuntarily as his eyes land on the person with broad shoulders and a nearly inhumane narrow waist.

Amon grumbles at his thought process.

Lang shrieks. Amon blinks, surprised.

Lang points at the building. "What — I — "

Sighing, Amon snaps the image away. "You're wrong — this place is boring."

Lang stares at him, incredulously for a little while longer, then huffs. "What's impressive is the people inside it. C'mon."

When Lang starts walking, Amon tilts his head. Shrugging, he obliges and follows.

Lang pulls out the communicator he was using a lot earlier, and starts typing out a message, but Amon flicks his wrist, making it disappear. Lang jumps, and the communicator falls out of his hands, reappearing when it hits the ground, broken. Lang frowns.

“Y'know, you're really, really mean,” Lang complains. “How are we supposed to notify them that we're here?”

Amon grins widely at him. "Where's your sense of spontaneity?" He jogs up to the door, a rather lengthy trek, and keeps sure to prance neatly onto the traps and tricks that he saw when he lifted the walls. That should alarm the shack — he's not a dickhead, he's an asshole, there's a difference. He knocks on the door, tapping his foot impatiently.

When a minute passes of no answer, he looks to Lang, who just caught up with him. "This is impolite. No guest should be treated like this."

Lang opens his mouth to respond to that, just when the door opens.

Amon feels the corners of his lips twitching without his permission at the view that greets him.

"You have a beard," he says wondrously, and he reaches out to poke Captain America's hairy cheek.

Lang makes a noise before he makes contact, and Amon looks at him, eyebrow arched and hand stretched.

Steve Rogers is blushing. Amon's eyes land back on him, and he winks, just to see that pink turn red.

He may look different — older — than he did eighty or so years ago, but he's still got the same blush. Amon tries to ignore that thought.

"Moros," a voice calls from behind Rogers. Amon scrunches his nose up.

"Oh, widow, my willow," he sings. "How harsh is the sting of your puff?"

Natasha Romanoff arches an eyebrow at him. "Harsh. Moved onto Kiliad hymns now? What happened to Russian lullabies?"

"Who else will remember those idiots, and I've grown out of them," he informs her. "Just like you've grown out of red."

The blonde woman just shrugs, which makes Amon's eyes land on the last person. He squeals.