FIC: Worlds Collide: Chapter One (for enediyne) - PG-13
Title: Worlds Collide: Chapter One
Author: sugar_fey
A Gift For: enediyne
Rating: PG-13 for this section, eventual NC-17
Warnings: Canon typical violence
Pairings: Clint/Natasha
Summary/Prompt Used: Prompt: "Do you know what it's like to be a lover? To be half of a whole?"
They have always been two halves of a whole, colliding, falling apart and coming back together again.
Authors Notes: This is the first arc of what will be a larger fic, but it can stand alone. The following chapters will be completed soon, so keep a look out! I'd like to thank my betas, W, S and C, and everyone on my f-list who listened to me and held my hand throughout the writing process. enediyne, I tried to include as many elements from your 'likes' list as I could! Happy holidays and I really hope you enjoy the fic. :)
Banner by frea_o
Chapter One
She has been in America for a month and progressed from interrogations with suspicious S.H.I.E.L.D agents to men and women in tweed with degrees in front of their names. Somewhere S.H.I.E.L.D has gone from considering her a threat to a salvageable asset.
She is not sure what to make of that.
Barton visits her in a quiet moment between the endless physical examinations and interviews. He tells her about the new bow he is testing, how the strike team he is placed on won't stop bickering and that he isn't allowed to smoke on base. After a good ten minutes of blather he asks about her day.
“They did a pelvic exam.”
Barton nods as if considering the information. “Ouch.”
She shrugs. Being poked and prodded by men in lab coats is a known variable.
Barton pulls out a chair and sits down like he belongs there, folding his arms and leaning back against the wall. He is relaxed in the way true masters of their craft are. Unlike amateurs, he can snap to attention and defend himself in an instant. He keeps his distance from her, never leaving the opposite side of the room, but he is not afraid. “Must be boring in here,” he says after a moment.
“I adjust.”
“I'm sure you do.” Barton's eyes flick over to the leather restraints on the bed. “Kinky.”
She glares at him. “You're not as funny as you think you are.”
Barton rests his elbows on his knees, watching her. His face is a paradox of youth and experience, and she gives in to her curiosity to observe the man to whom she owes her life. When he pointed an arrow her throat in a Siberian warehouse she had instantly placed him as ex-military, and now that she looks deeper, she sees more. Strong hands, weathered face, keen eyes, slight tan. Sniper, mid-thirties, probably a team player in the field but not off duty. No wedding ring, so married to the job.
“Do you need anything?” he asks. When she doesn't reply he stands and turns to leave.
“Wait.” Her voice is soft but he stops at the doorway. “An extra blanket.” She keeps her face blank as he looks back her. “I'm cold.”
He nods. “Okay. See ya, Natalia.”
She swallows. “I prefer Natasha.”
Author: sugar_fey
A Gift For: enediyne
Rating: PG-13 for this section, eventual NC-17
Warnings: Canon typical violence
Pairings: Clint/Natasha
Summary/Prompt Used: Prompt: "Do you know what it's like to be a lover? To be half of a whole?"
They have always been two halves of a whole, colliding, falling apart and coming back together again.
Authors Notes: This is the first arc of what will be a larger fic, but it can stand alone. The following chapters will be completed soon, so keep a look out! I'd like to thank my betas, W, S and C, and everyone on my f-list who listened to me and held my hand throughout the writing process. enediyne, I tried to include as many elements from your 'likes' list as I could! Happy holidays and I really hope you enjoy the fic. :)
Banner by frea_o
Chapter One
She has been in America for a month and progressed from interrogations with suspicious S.H.I.E.L.D agents to men and women in tweed with degrees in front of their names. Somewhere S.H.I.E.L.D has gone from considering her a threat to a salvageable asset.
She is not sure what to make of that.
Barton visits her in a quiet moment between the endless physical examinations and interviews. He tells her about the new bow he is testing, how the strike team he is placed on won't stop bickering and that he isn't allowed to smoke on base. After a good ten minutes of blather he asks about her day.
“They did a pelvic exam.”
Barton nods as if considering the information. “Ouch.”
She shrugs. Being poked and prodded by men in lab coats is a known variable.
Barton pulls out a chair and sits down like he belongs there, folding his arms and leaning back against the wall. He is relaxed in the way true masters of their craft are. Unlike amateurs, he can snap to attention and defend himself in an instant. He keeps his distance from her, never leaving the opposite side of the room, but he is not afraid. “Must be boring in here,” he says after a moment.
“I adjust.”
“I'm sure you do.” Barton's eyes flick over to the leather restraints on the bed. “Kinky.”
She glares at him. “You're not as funny as you think you are.”
Barton rests his elbows on his knees, watching her. His face is a paradox of youth and experience, and she gives in to her curiosity to observe the man to whom she owes her life. When he pointed an arrow her throat in a Siberian warehouse she had instantly placed him as ex-military, and now that she looks deeper, she sees more. Strong hands, weathered face, keen eyes, slight tan. Sniper, mid-thirties, probably a team player in the field but not off duty. No wedding ring, so married to the job.
“Do you need anything?” he asks. When she doesn't reply he stands and turns to leave.
“Wait.” Her voice is soft but he stops at the doorway. “An extra blanket.” She keeps her face blank as he looks back her. “I'm cold.”
He nods. “Okay. See ya, Natalia.”
She swallows. “I prefer Natasha.”