Fic: Marvel, Black Widow
Title: Down Time
Author: Ani_Bester
Ratings: G
Word Count: 985
Prompt: Natasha Romanova: undercover is never as much fun as the movies make it seem
Characters: Natasha, mentions of Natasha/Bucky
Warnings: nothing here should need a warning
Summary: Natasha tries to find a quite spot to deal with the more boring aspects of her job
Down Time
Natasha crept into the living room of James's apartment, taking care not to wake him. Given his training it was a hard task, but Natasha prided herself in being one of the few people who could enter without disturbing his sleep. She hadn't wanted to come here, initially she had thought she could get more work done at a shield office than at her boyfriend's, but as the day drew to a close, she realized that had been a mistake. If there had been one more idiot who couldn't see how clearly busy she was asking for her help…
With a shake of her head, Natasha sat the reports on one end of the couch, and the glass of wine on the coffee table. Pantomiming a heavy sigh, she collapsed onto the James's lumpy couch and slipped a hand between the cushion to fish out the remote.
"The couches always are lumpy and a man's place aren't they," she mused to herself as she examined the space between the cushions and the back of the couch. There had to be something about couches owned by men, because off and on she'd been quite poor and owned a number of things that wouldn't even qualify as couch, but none had been lumpy. Plus, it wasn't just James or Clint, even Tony Stark's had one or two couch's that were lumpy. So the common factor there was that the couch's belonged to men.
She chuckled a little and the absurdity of that train of though as her fingers brushed against the smooth plastic of the remote. Gripping it, she pulled it out and glanced at the pile of paper's next to her. The folders taunted her with bright green post it notes indicating areas of incompletion. And of course, Nick Fury wanted them all in the morning. What got under her skin the most though was that if anyone came in and saw the pile, they'd assume she had gotten behind.
Natasha wrinkled her nose. Baring alien invasions or various end of world scenarios, she kept meticulously on top of her paperwork, Avengers, Shield or otherwise.
Closing her eyes to block out the site of the work, she arched her back and stretched on the couch. After a few blissful moments, she released the stretch and turned to eye the glass of wine. Leaving it alone for now, she glanced to her left at the black and white clock that hung over the entry way to the kitchenette. It was a little stark for her taste, adding nothing particular to the décor. She always thought that James must have gotten it when he was still sorting himself out. It wasn't like him to have such an austere item. However, it worked enough to tell her that she could afford an hour of respite from the demands of the paperwork monster.
She reached down and flicked on the TV, but did not choose a station yet. She waited for James to poke his head out from the bedroom, which took about 30 seconds. He smiled and waved. She pointed to the pile of papers and then put her finger to her head. She saw James laugh and then cock his head toward the bedroom. Natasha thought a moment, then shook her head and leaned back into the couch with a frown and a thumb jab in the direction of the paperwork. She knew James was deciding whether to join her or sleep, but she also knew James had been up for 36 hours straight. In just under 5 seconds, she heard the bedroom door click closed.
Natasha pointed the remote back at the TV and flipped through the stations, trying to decide if it would be worth the effort or if she should give up now and put on a DVD.
However, as she flipped past some new action channel, she saw a familiar pattern, or at least a Hollywood version of a familiar pattern. An undercover operation, multiple agents, elevators, Mission Impossible Natasha realized seeing the over-hyped features of Tom Cruise as the camera panned in on him. She set the remote down, picked up the wine, and leaned back on the couch.
Less then 5 minutes in and Natasha could already count over 10 things that really would have made the operation Mission Impossible, but of course that was Hollywood: glitz glamour and little attention to reality. She picked up the glass of wine and smiled. Her attention was drawn not to the movie but of a discussion she'd had on the couch with Jan and Carol during a James Bond movie.
She'd nitpicked that to death for the amusement of the other ladies and they'd spent the rest of the night outlining a tell all spy book that could make Natasha richer than Jan. It had been Carol, she remembered, who'd been so gung ho about the idea of a real spy critiquing the movies.
Jan had been more interested on the dysfunctionality of all the fashions, which in turn had been interesting to hear. No one gave Jan the credit she deserved for the thought that did go into super hero outfit design.
Setting the wine glass back on the table, Natasha shook her head as the movie went into a particularly unrealistic set of stunts.
"Only if gravity stopped working," she murmured. Ignoring the movie now she looked at the folders. With a grimace she grabbed the top one, and then began to laugh. When people thought of spies, they thought of this, or Burn Notice, or Bond. Everyone made it look so much fun, even the research looked fun and easy in the movies, when it happened.
Flipping open the first folder and gazing at the information on Rxxon's current CEO she shook her head and wished for a moment that espionage really was as exciting as Tom Cruise made it look.
Author: Ani_Bester
Ratings: G
Word Count: 985
Prompt: Natasha Romanova: undercover is never as much fun as the movies make it seem
Characters: Natasha, mentions of Natasha/Bucky
Warnings: nothing here should need a warning
Summary: Natasha tries to find a quite spot to deal with the more boring aspects of her job
Down Time
Natasha crept into the living room of James's apartment, taking care not to wake him. Given his training it was a hard task, but Natasha prided herself in being one of the few people who could enter without disturbing his sleep. She hadn't wanted to come here, initially she had thought she could get more work done at a shield office than at her boyfriend's, but as the day drew to a close, she realized that had been a mistake. If there had been one more idiot who couldn't see how clearly busy she was asking for her help…
With a shake of her head, Natasha sat the reports on one end of the couch, and the glass of wine on the coffee table. Pantomiming a heavy sigh, she collapsed onto the James's lumpy couch and slipped a hand between the cushion to fish out the remote.
"The couches always are lumpy and a man's place aren't they," she mused to herself as she examined the space between the cushions and the back of the couch. There had to be something about couches owned by men, because off and on she'd been quite poor and owned a number of things that wouldn't even qualify as couch, but none had been lumpy. Plus, it wasn't just James or Clint, even Tony Stark's had one or two couch's that were lumpy. So the common factor there was that the couch's belonged to men.
She chuckled a little and the absurdity of that train of though as her fingers brushed against the smooth plastic of the remote. Gripping it, she pulled it out and glanced at the pile of paper's next to her. The folders taunted her with bright green post it notes indicating areas of incompletion. And of course, Nick Fury wanted them all in the morning. What got under her skin the most though was that if anyone came in and saw the pile, they'd assume she had gotten behind.
Natasha wrinkled her nose. Baring alien invasions or various end of world scenarios, she kept meticulously on top of her paperwork, Avengers, Shield or otherwise.
Closing her eyes to block out the site of the work, she arched her back and stretched on the couch. After a few blissful moments, she released the stretch and turned to eye the glass of wine. Leaving it alone for now, she glanced to her left at the black and white clock that hung over the entry way to the kitchenette. It was a little stark for her taste, adding nothing particular to the décor. She always thought that James must have gotten it when he was still sorting himself out. It wasn't like him to have such an austere item. However, it worked enough to tell her that she could afford an hour of respite from the demands of the paperwork monster.
She reached down and flicked on the TV, but did not choose a station yet. She waited for James to poke his head out from the bedroom, which took about 30 seconds. He smiled and waved. She pointed to the pile of papers and then put her finger to her head. She saw James laugh and then cock his head toward the bedroom. Natasha thought a moment, then shook her head and leaned back into the couch with a frown and a thumb jab in the direction of the paperwork. She knew James was deciding whether to join her or sleep, but she also knew James had been up for 36 hours straight. In just under 5 seconds, she heard the bedroom door click closed.
Natasha pointed the remote back at the TV and flipped through the stations, trying to decide if it would be worth the effort or if she should give up now and put on a DVD.
However, as she flipped past some new action channel, she saw a familiar pattern, or at least a Hollywood version of a familiar pattern. An undercover operation, multiple agents, elevators, Mission Impossible Natasha realized seeing the over-hyped features of Tom Cruise as the camera panned in on him. She set the remote down, picked up the wine, and leaned back on the couch.
Less then 5 minutes in and Natasha could already count over 10 things that really would have made the operation Mission Impossible, but of course that was Hollywood: glitz glamour and little attention to reality. She picked up the glass of wine and smiled. Her attention was drawn not to the movie but of a discussion she'd had on the couch with Jan and Carol during a James Bond movie.
She'd nitpicked that to death for the amusement of the other ladies and they'd spent the rest of the night outlining a tell all spy book that could make Natasha richer than Jan. It had been Carol, she remembered, who'd been so gung ho about the idea of a real spy critiquing the movies.
Jan had been more interested on the dysfunctionality of all the fashions, which in turn had been interesting to hear. No one gave Jan the credit she deserved for the thought that did go into super hero outfit design.
Setting the wine glass back on the table, Natasha shook her head as the movie went into a particularly unrealistic set of stunts.
"Only if gravity stopped working," she murmured. Ignoring the movie now she looked at the folders. With a grimace she grabbed the top one, and then began to laugh. When people thought of spies, they thought of this, or Burn Notice, or Bond. Everyone made it look so much fun, even the research looked fun and easy in the movies, when it happened.
Flipping open the first folder and gazing at the information on Rxxon's current CEO she shook her head and wished for a moment that espionage really was as exciting as Tom Cruise made it look.