Lyrics Meme Ficlets
For
spatz: You only hold me up like this/Cause you don't know who I really am (Natasha)
They sent Clint into her probably just as soon as he could actually stand on his own. Last time Natasha saw him, he was only partially conscious, at best. And only that, if she was honest, because of sheer stubbornness, the likes of which she rivaled, but had never otherwise seen. They sent Clint to her when she was still at least a fourth his enemy, and dangerous as a hungry predator.
"Drew the short straw?" she asked.
He didn't rise to the bait, just asked, "You hungry?"
She was. They'd tried to feed her, but she hadn't been able to trust any of the food. She crossed her arms over her chest and didn't say anything.
"Yeah, okay," he said and walked out. She expected to be left alone again for another eight? ten? hours. She expected not to be offered food again.
She did not expect him to come back with two bowls of steaming, rich, red tomato soup and grilled cheese with crusty French bread, and at least two types of cheese from the looks. He tore a corner off one of the sandwiches and dipped it into the soup before popping it into his mouth. When he'd chewed and swallowed, he pushed the plate and bowl he'd just sampled from over to her. "American comfort food, I don't know if it's really your thing, but it's hot and good."
She did her best not to devour everything like an animal, and forced herself not to ask why he was doing this for her.
*
After the second time he saved her life at the risk of his own, she asked. Well, she pinned him to a wall and hissed, "What is your game?" but it was sort of the same thing.
He swallowed, but otherwise showed no sign of nerves. "You're part of my team."
"A reason to warn me, to shoot something out of my way, not to get in the way of another shot, not-"
"Natasha," he said. "Natasha, you're worth saving."
She walked away so fast he dropped to the floor.
*
They kissed after a mission. It was part desperation to feel alive, but at least for her, it was part something else, too, something she wasn't ready to give a name to. He kissed her slowly, but deeply, like he was exploring, learning.
In between kisses she said, "You should-you should find yourself a nice girl."
"I did," Clint said. "I'm kissing her."
"Clint-"
He looked at her. Looked and held her gaze and said, "Natasha, if some day, you want to tell me why you don't think you're worth kissing, worth saving, worth anything, I will listen. I will listen and I will stay. But until then, I'm going to go back to kissing you."
She knew it made her wrong, made her bad, but she was going to let him kiss her, stay silent, and kiss him back.
For
venetia_sassy: You only hold me up like this/Cause you don't know who I really am (dickens-verse)
Jamie's first kiss happened on his sixteenth birthday. He was uncertain of what to do with his hands, and, for that matter, his mouth. After a moment, Joanna leaned back, looking worried. "Did I read that wrong? Because if I did-"
Jamie surged forward and kissed her again. Their mouths collided more than came together, teeth digging into the skin of their lips, and there was nothing particularly sexy about it except for how it was everything Jamie had wanted for, well, at least two years.
When he drew back to take a breath he said, "You read that just right."
*
Being with Joanna was easy, which was what made it completely terrifying. She didn't make fun of him when he has to asked her things like what he should give someone for a birthday present, or what the hell was going on in "Cannery Row." She was a fierce competitor at every board game known to man, but not a sore loser. When she got mad, she told him why, instead of expecting him to know, and she wasn't cruel in her anger.
But it felt like a lie. She was dating the boy her dad adopted, the one who went to school and did his homework and liked non-contact sports like track and field. She was dating a guy who had a younger brother and sister, instead of two kids he was thrown in a cage with at some point. She was dating a guy who knew his favorite foods and favorite colors and other favorites, because he'd learned to have choices.
After the kissing, he knew he had to tell her. It wasn't fair to her, not when she was willing to kiss that guy, give him that part of her. She went back to Atlanta the next day-it was a surprise trip up for his birthday-and he thought it was probably an act of cowardice to tell her over the phone, where he didn't have to see her face.
Instead, he waited for the month that she'd be there over the summer, waited and took her to Central Park where he knew he'd be able to breathe, and said, "I have to tell you something."
Her eyes went round and a little hurt. "Are you breaking up with me?"
Jamie blinked. "What? No! No, definitely not. Sorry, no."
She still looked concerned, scared maybe, and he didn't like that he was causing that. He'd practiced and practiced how he was going to tell her this, but what came out was, "I grew up hurting other kids and I couldn't save Pavel and your dad is the only person who thinks I'm not a bad kid, so I probably am."
"Whoa, okay." They'd been walking one of the paths up till this point. Joanna grabbed his hand and led him to an empty bench. "That was a lot of words all at once, but what I got from it, is that you think because of things you did when you were on your own and scared and had nobody to love you, think I shouldn't…what? Be your friend? Date you?"
"I was a dirty fighter," he tried to explain, desperate now in a way he didn't understand. "They'd put me in against the big guys because I was mean in how I won."
"Someone pitted you against other kids, bigger kids, and you did what you had to to win. Am I still with you?"
"No, it's not-I almost killed one of them before I realized he was down, really down."
"But see," Joanna took his face in her hands, "you didn't."
"I would've. If it meant I got to go back to Nyota and 'Karu and the rest of them, I would've."
"Because that's your right."
Jamie got stuck on that. "What?"
"It's our right to defend ourselves, Jay. Even against people who are as blameless as we are, which I'm kind of guessing was the case."
"Your dad never told you-"
She shook her head. "Said it was yours to tell, if you wanted."
Jamie opened his mouth. He wasn’t sure how to start. She said, "But there's nothing you can tell me that will make me think you're bad."
Jamie tucked himself against her side, wanting to hug her, but not sure if it would be welcome. She put her arms around him and it was perfect, everything he wanted. He said, "I think I tricked you somehow."
She put her chin on his head. "I'm not that gullible.
For
tehcoah But if life were only moments/Then you'd never know you had one. (Bucky/Steve)
The past interrupts Bucky. That's the best way he can describe it. It comes to him in bits and broken pieces, shattering moments of relative tranquility, or, worse, breaking his concentration when in combat. It is violent in its manner, and ruthless in its continued occurrence.
Steve, for someone who wishes Bucky would get his memory back, doesn't seem any happier about the way it keeps happening than Bucky feels. When he can, he brings Bucky cups of too-hot coffee, or toffee candies, something to sip, to suck on, to concentrate on the creature-comfort of it. When he can't, he shields Bucky, his body becoming the same symbol of his representation.
So far, the memories are nothing important. A baseball game heard over the radio, a cold evening when the furnace was busted-like usual-his mother's peach cobbler, the first time he ever got a pair of new shoes. Nothing worth interrupting his life for. Well, maybe the peach cobbler.
He tells Steve about the memories, mostly to check that they're real. He's still not certain Hydra didn't plant memories. Why they would be these kinds is beyond him, but it seems…not impossible.
They make Steve smile. He says, "You were so damn proud of those shoes. If you could've walked around with them on your head you probably would've."
Bucky looks down at his boots and tries to remember the feeling without having it thrown at him. All he gets is the sense that it might be time for new boots. These ones are losing their sole.
*
Bucky loses it a little when Steve gets shot protecting him while he's busy remembering Mrs. Arnold, his sixth grade teacher, and a crush. Steve heals up fairly quickly, of course, but, "That's not the point."
"Okay," Steve responds calmly. "What is the point?"
"The point is that you had to protect me at all because I was reminiscing about some probably long-dead crush."
Steve tilts his head slightly. "It's a good memory."
"It's a useless memory."
Steve frowns at that. "If all your memories were of big, important stuff, how would you really know anything about yourself?"
Bucky runs a hand over his face. "Try that again."
"Just. Yes, there are a lot of important things missing, but the unimportant things are important by the fact that they're not. They're just the little things that make you you."
"Like my sixth-grade crush."
"Buck, you went on about that woman for months. I was miserable and kept passing it off as getting sick."
Bucky frowns. "Did I ever notice?"
Steve flushes with a memory that Bucky's evidently not privy to. He says, "Uh, yeah, Buck. You eventually did."
Bucky kisses the back of Steve's neck. He's pink even there. "I'll try to appreciate the little things."
For
freshbakedlady: Just when I'm reaching for that rung at the top/I'm that broken heel unsteady, ready ready to drop (Maria and Pepper)
Pepper wonders, not so idly, if Maria would have sparred with her pre-Extremis. She likes to think the answer is yes, even if she might have pulled her punches. She likes to think Maria would have taught her how to take the punches.
Maria fights not just dirty, but filthy, with no thought for decorum or honor. It's only when she's off the mat that she has those luxuries, Pepper thinks. Pepper suspects Maria does not get to step off the mat very often.
*
Maria comes back from her trip to the secret base not quite present. Oh, she does her job as professionally and thoroughly as always. She's sharp and quick and edged, but it's as if the corners to her edges are missing.
Pepper finds her in her office, closes the door, and holds up a bottle of wine with two glasses. Maria stares for a moment before nodding. "Yes, please."
It takes two and a half glasses, and more talk about SI's cybersecurity than even Pepper really wants to have, but Maria says, "I made a mistake."
She laughs then, bitter. "Maybe a few."
Pepper kicks off her shoes. "Well, you're the first person I've known to have done that."
Maria's smile is cutting. "Other people's mistakes don't get people killed. Friends killed. They don't end with other friends on the run from the law."
Pepper raises an eyebrow. "Well, in that case, you're not the only person who deserves the blame. Unless you forced Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, and Sam Wilson into taking down SHIELD with you."
Maria pinches the bridge of her nose. "I gave the army the location of the base. I thought-I thought I was doing what was best for everyone, get the team stationed there off with a slap on the wrist, into valid positions. But I didn't know all the facts. One of the team members-one of the ones I'd vetted, for that matter-was Hydra."
"I'm willing to bet everyone in supervision had someone from Hydra sneak right on past them. Otherwise I don't see how this could have happened. You're human, Maria. It might be disappointing, but it's a fact."
Maria takes another sip. "Says the woman who castigates herself every time a negotiation doesn't go precisely to her liking."
Pepper grins. "Do as I say, not as I do."
"Mm," Maria murmurs, but her shoulders are less tense. "You're the boss."
For
teigh_corvus: Just when I'm reaching for that rung at the top/I'm that broken heel unsteady, ready ready to drop (Natasha and Maria)
Natasha shows up in Maria's apartment thirteen months after she disappears in the wake of releasing her secrets to the world. Maria doesn't bother to ask how she got in. Instead, she asks, "Coffee? Tea? I'm all out of orange juice."
"Coffee, please," she says, sounding at once exactly like the friend Maria has missed, and like nobody Maria has ever known her to be.
Maria makes the coffee and they sit at her table in a silence that has always been comfortable, and at least that hasn't changed. Eventually, Maria says, "You back? Or just dropping by?"
Natasha smiles down at the table. When she looks up, the smile is gone, but her, "That's why I came here," is warm. And Maria gets it. She might ask, but she won't pressure, either way.
Still, she has to know, "What'd you find?"
Natasha turns her cup one hundred and eighty degrees. "That I missed you. And Clint. Even Rogers and Wilson."
"I don't believe it took you over a year to get that," Maria tells her.
"No," she admits. "No."
"So," Maria presses.
"Every time I look back, I stumble. I can't-I can't connect to it anymore."
"Half the time it wasn't yours, just something that was stolen from you. Makes sense," Maria says.
"Leaves me nowhere to look but forward."
That has to be terrifying. Maria says, "We're here, waiting for you."
Natasha drinks the last of her coffee. "I wish that made the steps easier to take."
For her sake, Maria wishes so, too.
For
silverceri: All the climbing, all the falling/All the while the wild wind blows (Bob, Ezra, and Ronon from Dicken's verse)
Ronon and Jo came to New Hampshire to visit for Parker's birthday one year. Jo and Parker had had some kind of silent, outwardly terrifying bond pretty much from the moment they met. Ronon posited, "I think it's because Jo respects Parker's ability to get herself out of shit."
Bob personally thought the two of them were both just slightly off from center in the same way. He also thought it didn't matter. None of what made the friendships between them matter, just that they existed, that they hadn't been done away with by time or distance.
The second night of their visit was declared girl's night. Bob looked at Ezra, Vin and Ronon and says, "So. Boy's night?"
None of them were exactly experts on what that meant, but they figured pizza and beer fit the description. Since between the four of them, Vin was the big drinker, occasionally having a whiskey with Chris, it was not long before they were all buzzed, telling bad jokes and laughing too hard at the punchlines.
Bob didn't think he meant to ask, "Do you every worry they'll leave?"
The other guys blinked and Bob realized he hadn't prefaced that. "Parker. Jo. Do the two of you ever-"
"Basically every day," Vin said, right as Ronon was saying, "All the time."
Bob looked down at his beer. It was hard enough for him, worrying that somehow he'd lose Elizabeth and Peter, lose Parker or Ezra, Neal or Gee, any of them. He couldn't imagine adding an extra layer into that, an extra type of love.
Ronon, who was watching him carefully, the way Ronon watched everything, said, "It's not worse than-not worse than Jon or Sam or Jen. Just different."
"Definitely different," Vin agreed.
"How?" Bob asked. They'd all lost something, someone, they all knew the fear. It had always been universal, if nuanced, in Bob's case.
Ezra was pretending not to be paying too much attention, appearing not to care, the way he did when something got too close, too far under his skin. The rest of them let him, used to it, certain of its harmlessness.
"It's-it's less like being afraid of losing something you've always had with you and more like fear of losing something that's part of you, like an arm or a nose."
Vin nodded. "Something catastrophic would have to happen."
"How, exactly, gentlemen, does that not make it worse?" Ezra stole the words right from Bob and made them slightly fancier.
Vin shrugged. "Can't explain it."
Ronon tilted his head. "How often do you actively worry about losing your arm?"
Bob considered the question and took his point. If something was part of you, you were allowed to take certain things for granted, even if they weren't really true. "It's…muted?"
"Something like that," Vin took a sip. Ronon just shrugged and motioned in Vin's direction.
Bob said, "Still think you're crazy."
"Amen, brother." Ezra clinked their bottles together.
For
dancinbutterfly and
sperrywink: For all these years/I've faced the world alone (Bucky/Steve - reunited after the long separation)
The soldier is retaken on the seventeeth day after he dragged his target from the banks. He fights, even knowing it will end badly for him. He fights and takes six, seven, maybe eight of them out. But his body is suffering from a lack of nourishment, from having to heal more slowly without the drugs being pumped into his veins. At his best, maybe he could escape. But half his mind is telling him to go with them, and the other half is desperate and uncertain.
He's got no idea how much electricity is in the tazer they hit him with, but it's enough to take him down.
*
He listens. He listens and learns that they are not in a place with the right equipment to wipe him or freeze him. His mind and body flood with relief without even being entirely sure why. It does him no good. He's locked securely into a vertical spread-eagle position. His flesh shoulder aches at the strain. The casings connectors are stressed on the other side, causing more pain.
A man, tall and vaguely familiar, like maybe they've worked together before, comes and tells him, "You've been a bad little toy soldier."
The soldier supposes it's true he's been bad, at least from their point of view. He didn't complete his mission; he didn't return. He's not so sure he's little or a toy.
He's not sure he belongs to them.
The man asks, "You know what happens to bad soldiers?"
The soldier doesn't, not in any concrete sense. He has the vague sense impression of something distasteful. Then the man lights up an electricity wand, and the pain starts.
*
The soldier loses track of time. He measures his heartbeats, the times he does not scream, the stuttering of his breath. He finds the blank spot in his mind and stays there until he cannot, until they win and he does scream. The he counts the times he does scream.
He does not notice the little indignities: they leave him tied long past when he can hold his bladder, they do not clean him, instead they mock what he cannot help. They do not seem to matter.
More and more, he hears a voice in his mind that is not his. A voice that said, "I'm your friend."
A voice that said, "Till the end of the line."
*
At first the soldier does not understand that the hands of his controllers have changed. At first he thinks they have just finally tired of the torment, have assumed he has learned his lesson. Only, the hands that take him down are indescribably gentle.
And the voice that says, "Hey there, Buck. Hey, we've got you," rings with familiarity.
*
The soldier runs on feet that have been beaten bloody. When he stops running-a hotel room, he doesn't remember getting there, doesn't really know where he is; he should find out-he finds himself on the floor. He doesn't remember getting there, either.
The man with the wings does not have wings now. He thinks he may have caused that. If he did, it doesn't seem to be bothering the man, who says, "Whoa, hey there," and brings him a glass of water.
The soldier hadn't realized he was thirsty, but the water is cool and clean and delicious on his tongue. He drinks until the glass is empty.
He looks down, then, to find the target-Captain America-out of uniform, looking at his feet. He's wincing, saying, "You're kind of a mess, Buck."
"Steve." The soldier says it aloud, trying out the feel of it on his tongue.
"Yeah, Buck, it's me. We need to get you cleaned up, okay?"
The soldier doesn't fight as Steve pulls him to his feet, helping him to the bathroom. The soldier tells him. "I am functional on my own."
Steve says, "Maybe, but I'm here now, and you don't have to be."
The soldier hears the words, "till the end of the line," and thinks maybe they mean something, maybe he'll remember what. He lets just a little of his weight rest on Steve.
For
lifeasanamazon: But steady there now/For I am weak and starving for mercy (Snape/Hermione)
Hermione finds Snape by sheer accident. She's taking a holiday from the ministry, from the endless hours of paperwork and bureaucracy. She's in Muggle Prague and she-at first she thinks she is seeing things-she sees a figure she never thought to see again. She just manages not to say, "You're dead," which is clearly factually untrue, and instead to say, "Severus Snape."
After a long moment he responds with a slow, "Hermione Granger."
There are basically two options as Hermione sees things: she can bid him farewell and be on her way and both of them can pretend this never happened, or she can say, "I was just about to stop for lunch. How would you feel about joining me?"
She could practically see him weighing his options, but in the end he says, "Certainly."
*
Now that she is no longer a child, and he no longer the professor in her nightmares, she can see that he looks tired. Prague does not have a wizarding center, depending on surrounding areas to support any wizarding life. It is a good place for a wizard to disappear without going to the ends of the earth.
It is a good place for a wizard to be entirely alone.
At first the conversation is awkward, stilted, until Hermione asks if he's read Wiggershin's latest article on artificial chemical enhanced brewing. Then it was just cantankerous, but in a way that made Hermione laugh and give as good as she got.
When the lunch is finished, and she has no good reason to stay, she finds herself wanting to linger, to argue more, to engage more.
Haltingly, he says, "My flat is a few streets over, if you had no plans for dinner."
"None that can't be done away with."
*
His flat feels as tired and lonely as he appears, and Hermione longs to bring small bits of color into it, more light. Instead she is treated to a Michelin-star worthy meal and more academic squabbling.
She stays until the moon is well-past the halfway point and even then, she hates to leave.
The next day, she extends her stay in Prague.
*
The first time she kisses him, he pulls away, says, "You can't-mustn't.
She tilts her head. "Why?"
He grimaces and for a moment she is a student again and she's troubled him with a question he does not want to answer. But his answer is quiet. "Because I will not be able to stand you leaving."
"I suppose, then, that the only thing for it is for me to stay."
"This is not your home," he protests, but it is weak.
"No," she agrees. "We shall make it ours."
For
egelantier: But steady there now/For I am weak and starving for mercy (dickens-verse)
It was an accident. Heero hadn't been thinking when he'd put his smoothie down next to Tony's, hadn't even really noticed Tony's smoothie sitting there. He'd been more intent on whatever DUM-E was leading him to. Then, once he'd begun picking apart the pieces of the latest toy Tony had left for him, he'd lost all awareness of his surroundings.
So he wasn't expecting the underbite of protein add-in flavoring in the drink when he took a sip. For a second, just a second, he was aware that he was safe, he was fine, and then the sense memory stole that awareness, and he lost his surroundings to memories.
He was cold, so cold, the metal under him not warming to his skin, just leeching whatever warmth it contained out. The restraints were metal, too, digging into his flesh, holding him in place.
One of the doctors was approaching with a syringe. He wasn't sure what was in it, but he knew how this usually went, the fierce burning of whatever they put in him, the pain as it did whatever it was meant to do to his bones and muscles, as if he was being pulled apart, ripped open and then sewn sloppily back together.
He struggled, even knowing it was useless, the restraints would hold, he'd only hurt himself further-
"Heero!"
The shout didn't belong in the labs. He-his name hadn't come till later.
"Heero!"
There was a hand on him then, and no, no, he didn't want the injection, he didn't want-
"Heero, Jesus, Pepper will kill me if you don't start breathing again."
Heero scrambled away from the hand. Wait. He-the hand had been on him and he'd moved. He'd moved. No restraints.
No restraints, and he was on his knees, not his back. Something was beeping at him, but not steadily, not like the labs. He drew a breath in and it felt new, sharp.
"There you go, yeah, that's it, atta boy."
Tony was sitting on the floor across from him. Heero wanted to disappear. When he'd gotten enough breath back, he said, "S-sorry."
Tony shook his head. "No apologies. Just, do you know what happened?"
Heero still had the taste of powdered protein on his tongue. He knew it wasn't real. "I just need some water."
Tony walked over to the lab's fridge and grabbed a bottle, opening it and handing it to Heero. Heero drank slowly, his stomach pitching slightly. He said, "I, uh, I pretty much grew up on protein shakes and protein bars."
Tony glanced over at the two smoothies sitting beside each other, both green, and seemed to connect the dots. Softly, he said, "They don't have you anymore, and they'll never have you again."
Logically, Heero knew this. His nightmares were something else altogether.
"I kitted all of the places you guys were staying with Stark security systems. Nothing's getting in or out of your houses without you knowing it. Basically, they have to come through me to get to you, and that's just not going to happen. I promise."
As much as Heero could believe anything, Heero believed Tony. He was still shaky and lightheaded from the attack.
Tony must have seen something, because he asked, "What can I do? How can I help you?"
"Can I have some solid food?" Heero asked softly, still too far in memory to be certain about the answer.
Tony stood and offered him a hand. "C'mon, let's go get Peeta to spoil you."
Heero took the hand.
For
luuv2shop: And the water's rising/Now I can't breathe, nothing's how it's supposed to be (C/C)
Clint has nightmares after Loki. Not that he didn't have them before. But even after Phil defies orders and comes home to him after TAHITI-and oh, oh does Clint have a discussion with Fury about that, no matter how guiltily relieved he felt-the nightmares persist, bleak and sharp and terrifying. He wakes up to Phil saying his name, snapping it like his fingers. He wakes up, more often than not, fighting Phil.
When he calms down, Phil holds him, rubs his back and reminds him that he's here. Clint wishes he didn't know how. He wishes he'd never been privy to that particular project. He wishes it changed the fact that he helped kill Phil. Just because it didn't take doesn't make it any less true.
Then Phil gets his own team, and they're apart more than they're together. Clint wakes up from his nightmares too late to stop the panic attacks that follow, that leave him vomiting or blacked out on floor. When he does see Phil, Phil has stopped sleeping, is starting to show signs of the deterioration TAHITI causes.
May keeps him in the loop, since Phil won't, too damned worried about Clint to see that not telling him anything just makes it worse. She says, "The episodes are becoming more frequent."
She says, "I think you should see if you can make him sleep." These days, Clint is barely sleeping himself.
Then she says, "He found what he was looking for," and Clint experiences relief so profound it's physical. For a night, two, the nightmares aren't there. He sleeps with the desperation of death. He sleeps until he wakes, screaming.
*
Phil comes to him. Maybe May says something. Maybe Nat. Clint has long since spilled the beans to her. He doesn't know, but Phil comes and wakes him before the worst of the nightmares. And Clint can fall asleep again, even stay asleep, unlike when he's alone.
Phil whispers, "I'm fine, I'm fine," in his skin, and slowly, Clint is beginning to believe.
Phil whispers, "I'm not going anywhere, no matter what," against his ear, and Clint listens.
Phil whispers, "I love you," and Clint sleeps.