FIC: Worlds Collide: Chapter Two (for enediyne) - PG-13
Title: Worlds Collide: Chapter Two
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.
They have Natasha on base for nearly two months when Fury gives the go ahead for them to begin evaluating her physical skills.
Coulson shakes his head when Clint volunteers to test her- in hindsight he might have seemed too eager- and within a week Clint is standing opposite her on the mats while Maria Hill and Phil Coulson sit down with folders and expressions ranging from doubtful (Hill) to curious (Coulson). Natasha herself has tied her hair up in a ponytail and stands with hands on hips, gloves on and eyebrow raised. “Ready, Barton?”
He throws some towels over the ropes of the boxing ring and steps up. “Always.”
They start with basic defensive sparring because Fury doesn't trust her with a weapon just yet, which Clint thinks is stupid, because any fool can tell she doesn't need one.
Clint is strong but Natasha is fast, her agility and flexible limbs making up what she lacks in size. He throws a straight punch to her jaw and she blocks it, feinting left and aiming a kick at his knee. The rules forbid hard contact, so she softens the impact at the very last moment.
Clint gets in an uppercut to her jaw, relying on his gloves to soften the blow. Natasha's elbow slams into his ribs, sending pain shooting through his muscles. The bruise will be spectacular, and the hit wasn't even at full strength. Natasha steps back into a fighting stance and goes for another kick. She's grinning.
The fight is long and vicious, and Clint would be lying if said he wasn't having the time of his life.
Eventually he gets her to the ground in a headlock, only for her to flip her legs up and over the arm holding her down, trapping his head between her thighs and twisting so he has no choice but to roll over.
It was a position he would not at all mind being in if he didn't know she could snap his neck with one more twist of her hips. Panting, he taps on the mats.
Natasha releases him, and he sits up to come face to face with her. She's breathing as hard as he is; her hair is plastered to her forehead, her cheeks are flushed, and a bead of sweat slides down her collarbone.
Clint stands and offers a hand to her. Natasha stares at his outstretched arm for a moment, then grips his fingers and pulls herself up.
“Nice work,” he comments as Hill and Coulson take notes. He dries off his hands on one of the two towels he brought with him and passes her the other. “You want to shower? The change rooms are through there.”
Natasha smirks as she accepts the towel. “Do they trust me out on my own now?”
“No,” Clint says simply as they walk towards the change room. “That's why I need to go with you.”
“Are you expecting to join me?”
Clint chuckles. “Can't, darlin'. But thanks for the invitation.” He winks and Natasha does not rise to it, so he drops the act. “If you're uncomfortable I can ask Agent Hill…”
“Oh, please,” Natasha interrupts, pushing the changing room door open with a graceful movement. “Just try not to breathe too hard.”
She stalks into one of the shower stalls and Clint hears the click of the bolt. Setting down his gym bag, he moves to lean against the wall.
“As long as you're just standing there, you might as well hold my clothes,” Natasha calls, and a black t-shirt flies over the door.
“Uh,” Clint replies stupidly, picking up the t-shirt. “Okay.”
The grey S.H.I.E.L.D issue sweatpants are flung over and Clint catches them mid-flight. Then a sports bra and a pair of white cotton underwear appear over the door.
He hesitates before grabbing the underwear and swears he can hear Natasha laugh. “Are you all right, Hawkeye?”
“I liked you better when you were evil,” he grumbles back.
He hears the rush of the shower being turned on, and a slow sigh that must indicate Natasha stepping under the water. “The water is a little cool,” she says after a moment.
“Yeah, it never heats up here.”
“I prefer warm showers,” Natasha replies, all too casually. “Cold water gives me, oh, what do you call them? Goosebumps.”
“Cold water will do that. Gotta warm you up.”
“Hmm. I like it better hot.”
Clint can't help but grin. “Do you now?” he drawls, and Natasha laughs.
“Burning.”
The sound of the water abruptly breaks off, and a white hand appears of the top of the door. “Pass me the towel.”
He hands her the towel and a minute later the door opens, revealing Natasha, wrapped in his towel, drops of water sliding down her skin. She stands there for a moment, head cocked as if challenging Clint to react, and warmth spreads throughout his body.
Natasha's expression shifts back to calculating, and she reaches forward to grab the clothes from his hands. “I think we're done here, Agent Barton.”
The stall door shuts with a bang and when Natasha emerges again she is dry and fully dressed, her damp hair neatly finger combed.
“Where will you take me now?”
“You say that like you don't have any choice.”
She shrugs. “S.H.I.E.L.D has every minute of my life mapped out for me until they decide if I'm human.”
Clint says nothing and Natasha rolls her eyes. “Go on. Tell me they haven't given you orders about where they want me to be.”
“Actually, I'm supposed to take you to the shrink's office.”
“See?” A smile ghosts across Natasha's face. “Stop glaring, Barton. You really think I would still be here if it wasn't my choice?”
“It was this or an arrow.”
“That is a choice.”
Her tone is joking but he hears the truth because there is a file in the foster care system in Iowa detailing exactly how Clint knows what it's like to have no choices.
“They're starting you on the shooting range tomorrow,” he says to change the subject.
“How does that work for the good guys? Pistols at dawn, ten paces, everything fair and even?”
Clint snorts. “More like a ten second head start and a sniper rifle.”
“You let them get further away.” She sounds triumphant, like she found the key to stolen treasure and is contemplating the lock.
“Some people think it raises their odds,” he answers. Baghdad, Hong Kong, a burning hospital in St Petersburg. Theirs is never an even game.
“Do you miss them?”
“Only if I want to.”
This seems to make Natasha pause. He wonders if she's mentally labelling him a cocky asshole (which he would totally deserve) or if she's thinking about the arrow that missed her heart. They walk into the elevator and she turns to him, arms folded, head tilted to one side as if he's in her territory rather than the reverse.
“Tell me, Barton. Do you like the chance or the challenge?”
The elevator comes to a halt and Natasha stalks out, not waiting for the answer.
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.
They have Natasha on base for nearly two months when Fury gives the go ahead for them to begin evaluating her physical skills.
Coulson shakes his head when Clint volunteers to test her- in hindsight he might have seemed too eager- and within a week Clint is standing opposite her on the mats while Maria Hill and Phil Coulson sit down with folders and expressions ranging from doubtful (Hill) to curious (Coulson). Natasha herself has tied her hair up in a ponytail and stands with hands on hips, gloves on and eyebrow raised. “Ready, Barton?”
He throws some towels over the ropes of the boxing ring and steps up. “Always.”
They start with basic defensive sparring because Fury doesn't trust her with a weapon just yet, which Clint thinks is stupid, because any fool can tell she doesn't need one.
Clint is strong but Natasha is fast, her agility and flexible limbs making up what she lacks in size. He throws a straight punch to her jaw and she blocks it, feinting left and aiming a kick at his knee. The rules forbid hard contact, so she softens the impact at the very last moment.
Clint gets in an uppercut to her jaw, relying on his gloves to soften the blow. Natasha's elbow slams into his ribs, sending pain shooting through his muscles. The bruise will be spectacular, and the hit wasn't even at full strength. Natasha steps back into a fighting stance and goes for another kick. She's grinning.
The fight is long and vicious, and Clint would be lying if said he wasn't having the time of his life.
Eventually he gets her to the ground in a headlock, only for her to flip her legs up and over the arm holding her down, trapping his head between her thighs and twisting so he has no choice but to roll over.
It was a position he would not at all mind being in if he didn't know she could snap his neck with one more twist of her hips. Panting, he taps on the mats.
Natasha releases him, and he sits up to come face to face with her. She's breathing as hard as he is; her hair is plastered to her forehead, her cheeks are flushed, and a bead of sweat slides down her collarbone.
Clint stands and offers a hand to her. Natasha stares at his outstretched arm for a moment, then grips his fingers and pulls herself up.
“Nice work,” he comments as Hill and Coulson take notes. He dries off his hands on one of the two towels he brought with him and passes her the other. “You want to shower? The change rooms are through there.”
Natasha smirks as she accepts the towel. “Do they trust me out on my own now?”
“No,” Clint says simply as they walk towards the change room. “That's why I need to go with you.”
“Are you expecting to join me?”
Clint chuckles. “Can't, darlin'. But thanks for the invitation.” He winks and Natasha does not rise to it, so he drops the act. “If you're uncomfortable I can ask Agent Hill…”
“Oh, please,” Natasha interrupts, pushing the changing room door open with a graceful movement. “Just try not to breathe too hard.”
She stalks into one of the shower stalls and Clint hears the click of the bolt. Setting down his gym bag, he moves to lean against the wall.
“As long as you're just standing there, you might as well hold my clothes,” Natasha calls, and a black t-shirt flies over the door.
“Uh,” Clint replies stupidly, picking up the t-shirt. “Okay.”
The grey S.H.I.E.L.D issue sweatpants are flung over and Clint catches them mid-flight. Then a sports bra and a pair of white cotton underwear appear over the door.
He hesitates before grabbing the underwear and swears he can hear Natasha laugh. “Are you all right, Hawkeye?”
“I liked you better when you were evil,” he grumbles back.
He hears the rush of the shower being turned on, and a slow sigh that must indicate Natasha stepping under the water. “The water is a little cool,” she says after a moment.
“Yeah, it never heats up here.”
“I prefer warm showers,” Natasha replies, all too casually. “Cold water gives me, oh, what do you call them? Goosebumps.”
“Cold water will do that. Gotta warm you up.”
“Hmm. I like it better hot.”
Clint can't help but grin. “Do you now?” he drawls, and Natasha laughs.
“Burning.”
The sound of the water abruptly breaks off, and a white hand appears of the top of the door. “Pass me the towel.”
He hands her the towel and a minute later the door opens, revealing Natasha, wrapped in his towel, drops of water sliding down her skin. She stands there for a moment, head cocked as if challenging Clint to react, and warmth spreads throughout his body.
Natasha's expression shifts back to calculating, and she reaches forward to grab the clothes from his hands. “I think we're done here, Agent Barton.”
The stall door shuts with a bang and when Natasha emerges again she is dry and fully dressed, her damp hair neatly finger combed.
“Where will you take me now?”
“You say that like you don't have any choice.”
She shrugs. “S.H.I.E.L.D has every minute of my life mapped out for me until they decide if I'm human.”
Clint says nothing and Natasha rolls her eyes. “Go on. Tell me they haven't given you orders about where they want me to be.”
“Actually, I'm supposed to take you to the shrink's office.”
“See?” A smile ghosts across Natasha's face. “Stop glaring, Barton. You really think I would still be here if it wasn't my choice?”
“It was this or an arrow.”
“That is a choice.”
Her tone is joking but he hears the truth because there is a file in the foster care system in Iowa detailing exactly how Clint knows what it's like to have no choices.
“They're starting you on the shooting range tomorrow,” he says to change the subject.
“How does that work for the good guys? Pistols at dawn, ten paces, everything fair and even?”
Clint snorts. “More like a ten second head start and a sniper rifle.”
“You let them get further away.” She sounds triumphant, like she found the key to stolen treasure and is contemplating the lock.
“Some people think it raises their odds,” he answers. Baghdad, Hong Kong, a burning hospital in St Petersburg. Theirs is never an even game.
“Do you miss them?”
“Only if I want to.”
This seems to make Natasha pause. He wonders if she's mentally labelling him a cocky asshole (which he would totally deserve) or if she's thinking about the arrow that missed her heart. They walk into the elevator and she turns to him, arms folded, head tilted to one side as if he's in her territory rather than the reverse.
“Tell me, Barton. Do you like the chance or the challenge?”
The elevator comes to a halt and Natasha stalks out, not waiting for the answer.