“Preaching to the choir, hopefully.” Sam brushed the light dusting of sage from his shirt, unflappable as ever. He did know what he was getting into with Samantha, both in this situation and any other that came along. This kind of spiteful playfulness was just another sign, one that told him a lot more than she would ever put into words.
If she was bringing the info about a reincarnate of Clint Barton to him, then that meant he was worth approaching about joining the Avengers. And, in a roundabout way, it also meant he was worth Samantha making herself known to him. That was the part she was having trouble with, and why she was coming to Sam now. She’d already reached these conclusions herself, clearly – all she needed now was a little nudge.
He and Samantha had a good thing going, he knew that. But he also knew there were parts of her – the Natasha parts – that he and Cap would never fully understand. If you put Iron Man on one end of a spectrum and Black Widow on the other, Cap would fall squarely in the middle – the guy who didn’t judge the extremes on either side of him but would also never let himself tip too far in either direction. Like Sam, Steve preferred transparency, being out in the open, fighting in the light. Those times when he’d had to do things Natasha’s way were necessary, yes, but he considered them personal and professional low points in his career as Captain America. There were just some things he wasn’t meant to do, some methods he wasn't meant to use.
Clint was different, though. More flexible, better able to dive headfirst into the gray areas that made Sam and Cap uncomfortable. As Samantha came to depend on Natasha’s way of life, Sam had often wished that he could do more of that for her. Be a little more like Clint, in some crucial areas. He didn’t have to be everything for Samantha, but sometimes, it was hard not to want to. And it was a good feeling, realizing that he didn't have to think like that anymore. The knowledge that a Clint was already out there and that Samantha liked him enough from a distance to consider recruiting him was enough to relieve some of the pressure he put on himself.
Because, really, it wasn’t this place that needed a little messy. It was Samantha. It hadn’t occurred to him before, but she needed someone to keep her on her toes, for once. Good ol’ Clint was probably more than up for the challenge.
“Her uncle? Hey, that’s nice. Always good to hear people like them aren’t alone in all this.” Sam’s enthusiasm was genuine, though a little distracted as he tested one of the ravioli for doneness and started melting the butter on the other burner. Just a few more minutes, more than enough time to convince Samantha that what he was about to say next was one of his better ideas and not something specifically engineered to wrinkle her nose.
“Here’s a thought.” Turning toward her with just his upper body, Sam pointed at Samantha with the wooden spoon. “When you finally stop peeking in Uncle Strange’s window, why don’t you extend an invitation to both of them? I know Holly’s still pretty young and she's got her own stuff going on, but this might just be the incentive both of them need to join.” He raised a knowing eyebrow. “Can’t hurt, right?”