The water boiling now, Sam dumped the bowl of ravioli into the pot, adjusted the heat, and smiled to himself. There was a lot in that word, messy. For Samantha, it covered just about everybody who didn’t keep their shit quite as contained as she did. It was why she preferred solitude over company – and, he knew, why she preferred his company over almost anyone else’s.
Sam wasn’t messy, never had been. His life was a straight line, and if any bumps came along, he confronted them head-on, no vacillating, no running away. He’d had to be like that, even at an early age. His brother’s reincarnate had all but upended any possibility he had for a normal life before he even hit kindergarten – and with his life, his family's, too. Sam had been so young himself that he couldn't remember life before Jack being a reincarnate, so the transition hit him the easiest and came with the added bonus that he never blamed Jack for something he hadn't been able to help. Instead, he just rolled with it, doing whatever he could to help. Always the protective older brother and the dutiful son, Sam became something steady and firm for the rest of his family to hold onto when things got rough. An anchor, of sorts, for both Jack and his parents – and later for Samantha, after her mother died. And that was all he'd ever wanted to be. Someone all of them could rely on, and none of them had to worry about.
He’d done pretty well, he thought, for the most part. Sam was dependable, predictable, even a little boring when you got right down to it, but that was fine with him. Things like breaking the rules or leaving his small corner of Brooklyn had never interested him; he was straight-edge, all the way. The riskiest thing he’d ever done in his life was join the army, though at the time that felt like a natural step after taking a gap year to figure out what he wanted to do with his life that was also within his parents’ means. He knew a little better now. Last resorts always felt natural when you had no other options.
Even so, Sam had no regrets, if only because that step had been among the first to get him to where he was now. To get Cap, and a closeness with Samantha that was rare among anyone, let alone best friends. If given the choice, he wouldn't change his path. He'd still follow it, straight through.
“Hm. Messy. Sounds terrible.” Sam shook his head teasingly as he placed a large skillet on another burner and deposited a good chunk of softened butter into it. He didn’t turn the burner on yet, though – he’d wait a few more minutes, until the ravioli was close-but-not-quite done. A small bowl of chopped fresh sage was already on the counter, waiting for that final step. He liked to be a couple steps ahead, when it was possible. Pretty easy with cooking, not so easy with Samantha. Either way, he did his best.
“Well, think of it this way. Maybe we could use a little messy around here. Liven the place up.” He glanced over at Samantha wryly, giving the ravioli a stir and then shrugging with the wooden spoon still in hand. “How bad could it be? It’s not like Clint’s the messiest Avenger.” He paused. “... although now that I think about it, I guess he’s pretty close.”