Chapter Text
The house is a two-story and is averagely sized. It has three bedrooms, two baths and a dated corner kitchen that can fit two people, maybe three, if they each squeeze in tight enough, and the spotless windows are decorated with tiny ancient swords and delicately placed runes: textured decals to avoid bird strikes (Carol's idea), with lilac curtains instead of blinds (also Carol's idea).
The porch out front is just as put together: a yellow arbor with dark green vines, the kind that tend to suffocate you, as well as decorative pegasus garden statues (Val's idea) and a tiny pride flag standing short next to the purple- and cream-colored flowers (also Val's idea).
The door is a boring brown instead of yellow or rich burgundy (the colors of the arbor and the barn, respectively) or even rainbow, of course, which doesn’t quite fit the whole 'Queer power couple living in Norway' mindset, but Val isn’t one for stereotypes anyway.
When they were first looking at this place, America had laughed and mentioned, offhandedly, that both the house and Carol gave off 'Olympia Washington' type vibes, to which Carol- in her beanie and oversized Star Wars sweater, no less. Hot coffee in hand- had retorted from the off-white porch, "I'm from Louisiana, thank you." To which Monica had reminded, "you're actually from Boston," and Kamala had gushed, "she's literally a Jersey City transplant at heart."
Val, of course, had the last word. "She's Asgardian royalty. We claimed her fair and square, or however you say it," and the sentiment today is the same.
Well, mostly.
Monica's brows crinkle as she kicks a pebble with her shoe. The house itself does appear more decrepit than it did a month ago, save for all the decorating. The premises however is absolutely up to Asgardian standards: not a single invasive living thing to be found.
"Ancient royalty is one thing, but living here long term?"
Val wrinkles her nose, hands firm on her hips and asks, "What's wrong with here? I thought you liked this place."
"For a hobby... I mean, you can barely see the city lights, Val," Monica explains. "Let alone the Embassy." Her attention shifts to Carol as she points ahead to where the city lights are dim and faded. "No offense, but are you two planning on bifrosting your way to work every day? How are your people supposed to ask for an audience with you so far out in the weeds?"
"We aren't in weeds. Carol picked them all... didn't you?"
Carol shapes her fingers around her coffee mug and shrugs. "Kind of. I kept the dandelions and the plants that look like little hearts." She takes a sip and Val snaps her fingers.
"There you have it. If it looks like hearts, it obviously has to stay."
Monica laughs, which is nice. "It's a figure of speech," she says. "I'm just wondering about the feasibility of all this. The farm is cute. The flerkens are... well, flerkens. And the horses- er, pegasuses... pegasi?"
"No clue."
"They're nice, too. But what's the plan?"
"The plan?"
Monica's voice moves up a few notes. "Yeah. Like... isn't this a big project? Lots of animals and plants and produce growing from... weird places. With all of your foreign trade disputes and the Avengers HQ being on the other side of the world, how are you going to be able to handle it all?"
Val tenses at the mention of exports, arms to her side, fists clenching and unclenching as she ponders Monica's words. She has a point. Already, Val's bones ache in the morning and there are lines around her eyes that a mere fifty years ago didn't burrow quite as deep. All of the whining and complaining and freak accidents at all hours of the night... the broken bones (thank you Astrid's unruly youngest child and company) and frantic SOS calls at 2am, keeping Carol awake 24/7.
It isn’t fair to put this burden on her.
Perhaps moving wasn’t the best idea... selfish on Val's part, but Carol's hand threads into hers.
Her smile is tender. Maybe it's time, she says with her eyes. That is, if you're ready. She squeezes Val's hand with her own and the answer shines clearer than any choice Val has ever had to make.
"Get Love on the phone," are her next words, followed by a sureness in her chest and a rush of relief in her heart.
"I have a big, horrible, awful, painful favor to ask."
The coronation is one part chaos, one part joy, just like Love had wanted. Her pantsuit is legendary: midnight black, sheer netting over her fingers, with inky eyeshadow and purple lips pulling the whole outfit together. Kamala- with a randomly acquired baby on her hip- refers to the look as 'goth.' Monica refers to it as, "yeah. That's Thor's daughter, for you," while Carol settles for a simple 'badass kid right there' but Val knows the true definition.
King.
Badass King, and when Love downs half a jug of ale in three seconds flat, Val knows she's chosen right. Monica, however, isn’t so sure.
"Is this really the right decision?" In the thirty years Val has known her, Mon has never looked this panicked before: widened brown eyes taking up half of her face. "I'm thinking I should have begged you to stay monarch for a few decades longer. She's only in her forties. Practically a baby."
"She's capable," Val reminds. "A young immortal, but I'll still be around. I built this place from the ground up. Not planning on abandoning it any time soon."
"I know, I'm just... I'm... concerned. That's all." Monica’s shoulders are tense as she smooths out the wrinkles in her crimson dress. "I don't know why this is affecting me so much."
Carol places a hand on her shoulder. "We're still here, Mon."
"I know."
"Like Val said, we're not going away."
"Yeah, I- I got that-"
"I'm not going away," Carol reiterates. "Never again. Even after this whole Queen and Avengers thing is over. You're not getting rid of me that easily, right? I can promise you that... gonna bug you to death for the next thousand years.” Monica's lips quiver and she breaks with a small sob soon after. She wraps Carol instinctively in a hug and, seeing this, Kamala immediately joins in.
Soon, the hug between mother and daughter is a handful of people deep and every face is a mixture of teary eyed and happy. Kamala, Kate, America, Aamir... extended family wrapped up into one singular pile of bittersweet love.
(The newest King of Asgard herself was not present. Though, after discovering the hug-pile's existence, would like to remind everyone once again, that- "They aren't dead. They're just retiring and moving thirty minutes to the North. Goodness, you'd think I'd murdered someone in here or something.")
"We're just a quick flight away," Carol says, and Monica pulls back. She wipes her eyes. "Or a phone call."
Kamala adds, "Or a text message-" which inevitably leads to a list of every mode of transportation known to man:
"-Or a sling ring-"
"-Or a bifrost-"
"-Or a portal-"
"Which is basically a sling ring."
"Except it doesn't use Eldridge magic so actually it's technically not a sling ring-"
"Or you could all just send ravens," Val finishes, palms to the growing crowd. She lowers her arms to stamp out the noise. "Ravens are an appropriate form of communication and will be treated as such."
"Birds have rights," Carol adds knowingly. "Plants, though? Nah... Val's on a tree-murdering kick." She winks; gives Kamala a little nudge and Val shakes her head.
"Fine. An email then. I'll stoop to emails. One per person per week, but no holo calls. I'm tired of holo calls."
One of Laurel's kids pipes up, "What are we going to do without you?"
"Eh. I'm sure you'll find some way to live without our overarching presence."
"Really? Without Carol yelling at me about keeping meeting minutes and making sure the WCA is informed, how will I ever have time to myself?" Sam appears from behind Aamir's silhouette, almost like magic.
“You’re practically the head already,” Carol laughs. She reaches out her fist, which Sam meets with his own, and nods. “Captain.”
“Captain.”
“Do good things?”
“Always."
"Keep Buck out of trouble."
"The man and the team are made of trouble, but I'll do what I can. What about you? You gonna be okay out there with nothing to do? No Avengers to train or diplomatic trips to complain about?" He smirks. "No side quests to weird ass singing planets that aren't Aladna?”
"That was like twice," Carol says, and her smile is beaming. "But no." She juts her thumb Val's way. "You don't have to worry about us. We're going to be really busy doing stuff around the farm."
Val purses her lips and says in a singsong voice, "ooh. Doing stuff, huh?" She elbows Carol gently with a knowing and insufferable grin. "I like the sound of that..."
Kamala groans, "Don't even start," as Monica waggles her finger like a parent. “I don’t want to hear about this.” Val, however, simply cracks her knuckles for effect and takes Carol's flailing hand in hers. She intertwines their fingers and makes a face she hopes is provocative.
"Like Marv said," she crones, and she makes sure to draw the sentence out as insinuatingly as possible. "We're going to be so, so busy."
Carol proceeds to swat her in the shoulder. "Oh my god, you're insatiable," but, seeing as her face is red as a beet, Val concludes the ache of an infinity stone to the deltoid is 100% worth it. Everyone else eventually scatters due to disgust, which leaves Marv free to take a breather, and as such, Val also concludes she'll be rewarded for her antics at a later date.
Once they've made their rounds and the crowd has died down, she finally asks Carol if she's ready to go.
There's a double meaning to her question- "You think we can do this? Are you up for the challenge? Are you prepared to turn a crumbling farm into a home and prove to everyone that retirement is something we can manage?"- but Carol merely smiles.
With a firm nod and a squeeze of her hand, she pulls Val forward until they're nose and nose and whispers with intention, "Hell yeah," before her voice takes on a sliver of seductiveness.
"And we're going to be so, so busy."