(no subject)
Title: Minutes, Hours
Fandom: Avengers
Pairing: Clint/Natasha
This was supposed be a quiet, romantic moment. It somehow came out a bit darker than I originally imagined. But hopefully not in a bad way? Thanks to Sus for catching some mistakes!
Two minutes.
It's been two minutes since the first explosion rocked the building, since the comms went out then fizzled unevenly back to life, since she and the rest of the team lost all visuals on him. Two minutes, then three.
Tony's as close as he can get, but he can't see through the smoke, and the robotic tech is messing with JARVIS' sensors. Sam is up high, but he's to the east, the wrong direction to offer any substantial intel, and he's too busy dealing with half a dozen airborne bots to investigate further.
Four minutes. Five. She ticks off the seconds in her head.
She's on the ground, the best place for her to be, side by side with Cap and Bucky, her body reacting automatically by pummelling each and every ground based robot that comes at her.
Six minutes.
Where is he?
Small aftershocks blast out of the building, the entire top half of it crumbling before her eyes, and it's only the quick reflexes of her teammates that shield her from being taken down by one of the bots.
---
It's hours later when she's finally able to slip away to her apartment. Hours, after showers and food and a full team debrief, after Clint has disappeared with Tony and she's been cornered by Pepper. Hours, until she's alone and her weary mind forces her to confront what happened in the field today. She pushes it back, not ready to look too closely yet. She needs sleep. She needs to just… not be… for a little while first. Then, and only then, might she be willing to question what happened. Maybe.
But her desire is not to be. He's waiting by her door in the darkened corridor, his pose deceptively casual. "Nat," he says quietly. Not a question or an accusation. Just a single word to let her know he's there, as if she could have missed him, missed all the things she knows so intimately about him that alert her to his presence.
Without a word, she unlocks the door, leaves it open in silent invitation. He follows her inside, the look in his eyes watchful, concerned.
She doesn't say a thing, just gives an almost imperceptible shake of her head when he starts to speak, then heads toward the bedroom, shucking her jeans and shirt as she goes. She unhooks her bra, slides it from her shoulders and dons a tank top in its place, while he peels down to his boxers.
They climb into bed quietly, arranging themselves in a familiar, comfortable pattern, him on his back, her on her side facing him, a leg hooked over his hip. She traces idle patterns across the taut skin of his stomach, longing to put off the inevitable.
He covers her hand with his, gives it a small reassuring squeeze. It is almost too much for her to bear. "Nat… Tasha. What happened?" he asks, his voice rumbling quietly in the dark.
She blinks, ducks her head so that her hair hides her face from his view. He shifts beside her, the bed dipping slightly as he turns on his side, his hand reaching out to slide her curls behind an ear. She stares at him in the dark, allows her lip to tremble as she tries to find the words.
"The comms…They didn't work. I couldn't hear you. Tony couldn't get a visual." She can't say it all, feels uncomfortable admitting to so much vulnerability, even with him. "You know what happened."
"Tasha." It's not a plea for more or even an admonishment. It simply is. His quiet reassurance, the gentleness as he cups her cheek, is her undoing. She turns her face into his hand, presses a damp kiss against the palm.
He pulls her tighter into him, cradling her frame within his arms. "Hey, I'm here. I'm not gone. I never was. It was a blip because of the tech."
"If Bucky hadn't seen the robot and shot, or Cap hadn't reacted fast enough to throw his shield… I got distracted," she huffs, anger at herself overriding imagined loss for the moment. "I never get distracted. Not when you were shot and we were outnumbered and outgunned in Budapest. Not even with Loki," she spits out. "But today..."
She sniffles, a sound so unlike the her that the rest of the world sees, that he smiles a little bit at her in the dark and she cannot help a tiny smile of her own in return. They are quiet for a moment, but the quiet doesn't bother her, not now, not when he is solid and sure against her, his heart beating strongly beneath her ear.
He moves away from their embrace and she makes a noise of protest. She doesn't want to let him go, not even briefly, even though she knows he's safe. He shushes her softly and grabs the duvet, pulling it up around them in a warm, cozy nest.
"I'm right here," he assures her again, kissing her temple. Sighing, she burrows into his side, finally allowing herself to relax completely, to stop questioning her actions from the day. Deep down, she knows why, and if they don't speak about it aloud, or admit it around others, that's ok. She knows and so does he and they're both all right.
PS: I know the stuff I've been writing is nowhere near as good as my old stuff used to be, but omg, it's been so nice stretching those atrophied writing muscles and being creative again. So nice.
Fandom: Avengers
Pairing: Clint/Natasha
This was supposed be a quiet, romantic moment. It somehow came out a bit darker than I originally imagined. But hopefully not in a bad way? Thanks to Sus for catching some mistakes!
Two minutes.
It's been two minutes since the first explosion rocked the building, since the comms went out then fizzled unevenly back to life, since she and the rest of the team lost all visuals on him. Two minutes, then three.
Tony's as close as he can get, but he can't see through the smoke, and the robotic tech is messing with JARVIS' sensors. Sam is up high, but he's to the east, the wrong direction to offer any substantial intel, and he's too busy dealing with half a dozen airborne bots to investigate further.
Four minutes. Five. She ticks off the seconds in her head.
She's on the ground, the best place for her to be, side by side with Cap and Bucky, her body reacting automatically by pummelling each and every ground based robot that comes at her.
Six minutes.
Where is he?
Small aftershocks blast out of the building, the entire top half of it crumbling before her eyes, and it's only the quick reflexes of her teammates that shield her from being taken down by one of the bots.
---
It's hours later when she's finally able to slip away to her apartment. Hours, after showers and food and a full team debrief, after Clint has disappeared with Tony and she's been cornered by Pepper. Hours, until she's alone and her weary mind forces her to confront what happened in the field today. She pushes it back, not ready to look too closely yet. She needs sleep. She needs to just… not be… for a little while first. Then, and only then, might she be willing to question what happened. Maybe.
But her desire is not to be. He's waiting by her door in the darkened corridor, his pose deceptively casual. "Nat," he says quietly. Not a question or an accusation. Just a single word to let her know he's there, as if she could have missed him, missed all the things she knows so intimately about him that alert her to his presence.
Without a word, she unlocks the door, leaves it open in silent invitation. He follows her inside, the look in his eyes watchful, concerned.
She doesn't say a thing, just gives an almost imperceptible shake of her head when he starts to speak, then heads toward the bedroom, shucking her jeans and shirt as she goes. She unhooks her bra, slides it from her shoulders and dons a tank top in its place, while he peels down to his boxers.
They climb into bed quietly, arranging themselves in a familiar, comfortable pattern, him on his back, her on her side facing him, a leg hooked over his hip. She traces idle patterns across the taut skin of his stomach, longing to put off the inevitable.
He covers her hand with his, gives it a small reassuring squeeze. It is almost too much for her to bear. "Nat… Tasha. What happened?" he asks, his voice rumbling quietly in the dark.
She blinks, ducks her head so that her hair hides her face from his view. He shifts beside her, the bed dipping slightly as he turns on his side, his hand reaching out to slide her curls behind an ear. She stares at him in the dark, allows her lip to tremble as she tries to find the words.
"The comms…They didn't work. I couldn't hear you. Tony couldn't get a visual." She can't say it all, feels uncomfortable admitting to so much vulnerability, even with him. "You know what happened."
"Tasha." It's not a plea for more or even an admonishment. It simply is. His quiet reassurance, the gentleness as he cups her cheek, is her undoing. She turns her face into his hand, presses a damp kiss against the palm.
He pulls her tighter into him, cradling her frame within his arms. "Hey, I'm here. I'm not gone. I never was. It was a blip because of the tech."
"If Bucky hadn't seen the robot and shot, or Cap hadn't reacted fast enough to throw his shield… I got distracted," she huffs, anger at herself overriding imagined loss for the moment. "I never get distracted. Not when you were shot and we were outnumbered and outgunned in Budapest. Not even with Loki," she spits out. "But today..."
She sniffles, a sound so unlike the her that the rest of the world sees, that he smiles a little bit at her in the dark and she cannot help a tiny smile of her own in return. They are quiet for a moment, but the quiet doesn't bother her, not now, not when he is solid and sure against her, his heart beating strongly beneath her ear.
He moves away from their embrace and she makes a noise of protest. She doesn't want to let him go, not even briefly, even though she knows he's safe. He shushes her softly and grabs the duvet, pulling it up around them in a warm, cozy nest.
"I'm right here," he assures her again, kissing her temple. Sighing, she burrows into his side, finally allowing herself to relax completely, to stop questioning her actions from the day. Deep down, she knows why, and if they don't speak about it aloud, or admit it around others, that's ok. She knows and so does he and they're both all right.
PS: I know the stuff I've been writing is nowhere near as good as my old stuff used to be, but omg, it's been so nice stretching those atrophied writing muscles and being creative again. So nice.