( ah, yellow perch. what it lacks in strength and size, it makes up for in taste. the "bread and butter" of lake erie, he heard the guy at the tackle shop call it. it'll make for a good dinner if they catch enough of it and they should. yellow perches swim in schools so it won't be hard to fill the cooler. plus, as a bonus, the fish can be caught year-round, even when ice fishing.
but no ice fishing today.
it's too warm for that. frankly, a little too warm and balmy for him. but he's spent the past twenty years in a place colder than a witch's teat, what does he know? so he won't complain about the heat. indeed, alexei should consider himself blessed after everything: losing his girls, the seventh circle, almost losing his girls again, losing five years, and then losing natasha.
he is blessed. too blessed to be stressed, a delightful saying that has inched its way into his mind and life. a much better proverb to live by than the russian one that'll forever be etched on his psyche: trust but verify. he's done with that. done with the lying, the subterfuge, and the circle of accountability. he was never made for that, but he stomached it for the glory of the motherland.
but, in his heart, he is a simple man. a day fishing with his daughter and a cooler full of sodas and sandwiches made by his beautiful wife are enough to sate him for a lifetime. which is why he dragged yelena out at 8 am on a thursday to catawba island, about an hour west of their home outside cleveland. it's nice, yeah?
alexei wipes the bait muck on the inside of his hawaiian shirt. it's very cool and very red, like his uniform, with blue hibiscuses and white plumerias exploding on it like fireworks. it's been a few decades since he's fished. as a child living on the edge of society, he fished almost weekly, all year round; it was a guaranteed source of protein during the dead of winter. but that stopped when he joined the red army at seventeen then later became the red guardian. he was too preoccupied with proving himself an equal to captain america to concern himself with fishing. during their (too) brief stay in ohio, he had planned on taking natasha and yelena fishing one weekend, but he got called in to work overtime at the north institute and so the trip was canceled. the next thing alexei knew, he was laying on a plane's wing, shooting out a car's tires, as they attempted to escape to cuba, so the fishing trip never happened.
but casting the line comes naturally to him. he bends his knees a little, presses the reel button with his thumb, raises the rod over his head, and buzz. he presses the button again and kerplunk. his line lands about twenty feet out β perfect, a cast worthy of lee wulff.
with his sharp eyes on his line, alexei pulls a pack of juicy fruit from the side pocket of his cargo shorts. they are also very cool and very convenient with all the pockets. he pops a piece in his mouth and then holds out the pack to yelena. is it still her favorite? he doesn't know, but the yellow packaging reminds him of better days, warming him as the sun's rays do on the back of his neck. ) This is nice, yeah?
( yeah, he tells himself before she does. nothing bad will happen on catawba island in their spot devoid of other people. today, they will catch fish and catch up on conversations. and maybe catch some z's too. he brought a couple of lawn chairs for when they want to take the load off. solid dad thinking on his part. maybe they'll stay so late, he'll end up needing to build a small fire here and they can eat the fish right off the bone. melina won't be happy, but she'll soften when he tells her how much fun they had. just like old times β alexei and yelena, his little buddy. )
government agents want me. fish fear me.
but no ice fishing today.
it's too warm for that. frankly, a little too warm and balmy for him. but he's spent the past twenty years in a place colder than a witch's teat, what does he know? so he won't complain about the heat. indeed, alexei should consider himself blessed after everything: losing his girls, the seventh circle, almost losing his girls again, losing five years, and then losing natasha.
he is blessed. too blessed to be stressed, a delightful saying that has inched its way into his mind and life. a much better proverb to live by than the russian one that'll forever be etched on his psyche: trust but verify. he's done with that. done with the lying, the subterfuge, and the circle of accountability. he was never made for that, but he stomached it for the glory of the motherland.
but, in his heart, he is a simple man. a day fishing with his daughter and a cooler full of sodas and sandwiches made by his beautiful wife are enough to sate him for a lifetime. which is why he dragged yelena out at 8 am on a thursday to catawba island, about an hour west of their home outside cleveland. it's nice, yeah?
alexei wipes the bait muck on the inside of his hawaiian shirt. it's very cool and very red, like his uniform, with blue hibiscuses and white plumerias exploding on it like fireworks. it's been a few decades since he's fished. as a child living on the edge of society, he fished almost weekly, all year round; it was a guaranteed source of protein during the dead of winter. but that stopped when he joined the red army at seventeen then later became the red guardian. he was too preoccupied with proving himself an equal to captain america to concern himself with fishing. during their (too) brief stay in ohio, he had planned on taking natasha and yelena fishing one weekend, but he got called in to work overtime at the north institute and so the trip was canceled. the next thing alexei knew, he was laying on a plane's wing, shooting out a car's tires, as they attempted to escape to cuba, so the fishing trip never happened.
but casting the line comes naturally to him. he bends his knees a little, presses the reel button with his thumb, raises the rod over his head, and buzz. he presses the button again and kerplunk. his line lands about twenty feet out β perfect, a cast worthy of lee wulff.
with his sharp eyes on his line, alexei pulls a pack of juicy fruit from the side pocket of his cargo shorts. they are also very cool and very convenient with all the pockets. he pops a piece in his mouth and then holds out the pack to yelena. is it still her favorite? he doesn't know, but the yellow packaging reminds him of better days, warming him as the sun's rays do on the back of his neck. ) This is nice, yeah?
( yeah, he tells himself before she does. nothing bad will happen on catawba island in their spot devoid of other people. today, they will catch fish and catch up on conversations. and maybe catch some z's too. he brought a couple of lawn chairs for when they want to take the load off. solid dad thinking on his part. maybe they'll stay so late, he'll end up needing to build a small fire here and they can eat the fish right off the bone. melina won't be happy, but she'll soften when he tells her how much fun they had. just like old times β alexei and yelena, his little buddy. )