It's That Time Of Year Again!
In honor of All Hallow’s Eve, I’m inviting trick-or-treaters to my ‘door.’ Comment “trick-or-treat” to this post and…well, you know the drill. Treats can be anything that strikes my fancy (pics of fave actors or pairings, one sentence fics, graphics, a few words why I’m glad to have you on my flist, etc. etc.). The more “houses” to visit the more
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“That.” Clint swiped tears of laughter from his eyes and pointed at the number on the door. “You’re both Spider Ladies and your apartment number is officially Number Eight.”
Jess and Natasha just stared at him.
“You know? Because spiders have eight legs and…” Clint trailed off, his brow furrowing. “Oh, come on, you have to admit, that’s funny. That’s Red Skelton levels of funny.”
“This is the man you’re sleeping with,” Jess told Natasha.
She hmm’d. “I’m aware,” she said, and Clint pouted a little. “But it’s nice that he’s so easy to amuse.”
Clint stuck his tongue out at both of them. “What are you going to call this place?”
“Uh, ‘The Apartment’ works,” Jess said. “We’re Avengers. We’re not exactly going to be here much.”
“We could name it,” Natasha said, making both Jess and Clint look at her. “Might give it some character.”
“Let’s show it off first.” It took a couple of tries to jigger the lock in the right way-which Natasha never had problems with, Jess knew, but she’d get better with practice-and then Jess pushed the door open with her shoulder. It wasn’t too much of a place, as being savior of the city, country, or world depending on the ferocity of the villain didn’t pay top dollar, but she liked to think that she and Nat had picked a place with character. And high ceilings. It would be a bitch to heat, but she needed space and horizontal space wasn’t exactly abundant in the Meatpacking district. “Ta-daaaa,” she said, stepping in so that her new roommate and her partner could step inside.
“The Spider Flat?” Clint asked, and both women shook their heads at him. He wandered about, poking through the empty cabinets and the refrigerator; there were a few paltry boxes on the floor, but most of Jess’s stuff hadn’t arrived and they seriously needed to hit IKEA for Natasha because a past as a mind-controlled Russian assassin didn’t exactly come with a full bedroom set. “Spider Shack?”
“You’re really fixated on the spider thing,” Jess said.
“It’s just too perfect. Spider-Woman, the Black Widow, roommates. The name has to be some terrible pun about spiders and-oh! It’s your web. I can see it. We’ll call it the Web.”
As cute as the name kind of did sound, Jess just rested her chin on her fist and gave Clint the look she’d used for a while to torture him. He hated that ‘over-interested, I’m just humoring you because gosh you’re so pretty’ look she’d crafted specifically with him in mind, which meant she only used it more. He scowled at her now.
Natasha’s chuckle made both of them drop the act and look over. “The Web,” she said, shaking her head. “No, that’s not it.”
“So what are you going to call it, then?”
Natasha looked at first Clint and then Jess, and shrugged. “Home. I’ll call it Home. It is time I had one of those.”
In the end, their deliberations over the name didn’t matter. To the other Avengers, who changed in rank and number throughout the years, it was Nat-and-Jess’s place or Jess-and-Nat’s pad or the Disaster Zone (if Nat had been away for too long and Jess wasn’t busy avengering) or a Soft Spot to Crash During Hard Times or Ground Zero for the Skrull Attacks, but to Jess and Natasha, and eventually to Clint, it remained, as ever, Home.
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