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You could hear the slow echoes of children's laughter in the nearby courtyard; the unhurried play of a late summer's night. Even in the apocalypse, John thought, kids are just kids. 

"You realize that's a trap, right?" Lily looked at him over the top of whatever her latest invention was. He'd caught her sneaking glances at the viewscreen in between bouts of tinkering. 

"They're real kids."

"Sure, but look at them. They were put there intentionally. They're practically on display, waiting for someone to..." She sighed. "You're going to save them anyway, aren't you."

John shrugged, smiling. "Kids are kids." 

The wedding had gone as well as such things could. The bride was radiant, and the other bride looked pretty good too. And sure, John was biased, but who was going to ask his opinion?

The bar had been open, and generous, and there had been some very fine whiskey, rich and dark and smokey. (Had been. He wasn't the only reason it was gone, but he had done his share.)

The reception was cleared, the dances were danced, the newlyweds were off doing their thing.

He stood, picked up the last bottle, and flipped the lights off.

Salud, Lily.

“I was the black sheep in the family,” Lily blurted.

John looked over, raising his eyebrows. It was a cold and somewhat dangerous prospect to be out on the Avenger’s deck, but the view was well worth the risk.

“Really. They were all popular kids in school. Athletes. I was the nerd.” She looked at him enviously. “They were like you.”

John barked a laugh in response. “Everyone in my family was smart. I was the black sheep.”

Lily grinned back at him. “Then stop bleating and teach me how to throw this.” She tossed the football in her hands.