FIC: Tangled Up In Blue - Prologue (Avengers-Clint/Natasha)
Title: Tangled Up In Blue (Prologue) (WiP first of ??)
Author: im_ridiculous
Fandom: Avengers - Clint/Natasha
Genre: Crackcrack Cracky McCrackerson, AU
Rating: For mature audiences. (Angst, sexual references, and a four letter word.)
Length: ~500
Disclaimer: I own nothing and no one.
Thanks: To workerbee73 for the instigation and the encouragement, and anillogicalmind for the pompoms
Summary: Her absence is a presence he can’t shake.
A/N: This was sparked by a flippant comment I made to Bee about ‘Clint ‘Feels’ McGee and His Underrated Self’ being a band that I wanted to play at my birthday party because they were relevant to my interests... Well, the band’s name has changed (you’ll meet them soon), but with sincere apologies, I now present an angsty AU crack!fic where Clint is a booze-soaked country/folk musician running from a past that includes Natasha. Running to a future that includes her too? … Time will tell.
Tangled Up In Blue - Prologue
Eventually, the heat seeping into the room threatens to become unbearable.
And in the desolate space between sleep and waking, especially then, the heat always reminds him of her. That flame-haired girl who burns so bright in his memory, he’s sure she could consume him. That she could burn him up until only ash remained. Claim him at last.
The threadbare curtains are a poor defence against the high-noon desert sun, and he’s squinting into wakefulness now, fully-clothed and sprawled on tangled sheets, one arm groping toward the nightstand in search of some kind of liquid. But the water glass is empty and the bourbon bottle is too, and there’s nothing for it but to sit up.
He blinks against the light and looks around, tongue searching mouth for moisture and finding nothing. He knows every greasy smudge on these walls, every stain on the carpet. Even the smell of this place holds a certain charm that’s almost nostalgic. It’s not home, but he’s been here three times in almost two years and he thinks maybe it’s as close as he can get.
The need for water overpowers the pounding in his head now. And he ignores the long-broken tap in the dirty corner sink, pulls open the door and stumbles out into the motel parking lot, towards the diner across the road.
There, the soft, brown-haired girl smiles her sad smile and serves him coffee and eggs just the way he likes them. And later that night, he'll see her beside the stage, singing along and smiling that smile. And he'll sing and smile back at her, drunk and bulletproof. And afterwards he'll take her hand and lead her back to the room and kiss her and fuck her and lie and tell her she’s beautiful. And he'll think maybe he could stay here. Maybe he could pretend she makes him happy. It would be enough for her, she’s told him, for him to pretend. Just to pretend and stay here with her.
But her absence is a presence he can’t shake. And a soft, brown-haired girl will never be sharp enough to cut her out of him, to free him from her.
And this time, when it’s over, when he loosens the fingers twisted in that brown hair, his eyes still screwed-up shut, she takes his face gently in her hands and murmurs: “Hey... Hey, look at me.” He opens his eyes and meets hers, clear and unsentimental before him. She smiles that sad smile. “Honey, I’m sorry. It’s not. It’s not enough.” She sighs. And when her hands slide down to his chest, her eyes follow. “You can’t come back around here again.” And she gets up and pulls her dress over her head and runs a hand through her hair, and she walks out into the parking lot and doesn’t look back.
None of them ever look back when they leave. None except one.
The madness continues with Chapter 1
Author: im_ridiculous
Fandom: Avengers - Clint/Natasha
Genre: Crackcrack Cracky McCrackerson, AU
Rating: For mature audiences. (Angst, sexual references, and a four letter word.)
Length: ~500
Disclaimer: I own nothing and no one.
Thanks: To workerbee73 for the instigation and the encouragement, and anillogicalmind for the pompoms
Summary: Her absence is a presence he can’t shake.
A/N: This was sparked by a flippant comment I made to Bee about ‘Clint ‘Feels’ McGee and His Underrated Self’ being a band that I wanted to play at my birthday party because they were relevant to my interests... Well, the band’s name has changed (you’ll meet them soon), but with sincere apologies, I now present an angsty AU crack!fic where Clint is a booze-soaked country/folk musician running from a past that includes Natasha. Running to a future that includes her too? … Time will tell.
Tangled Up In Blue - Prologue
Eventually, the heat seeping into the room threatens to become unbearable.
And in the desolate space between sleep and waking, especially then, the heat always reminds him of her. That flame-haired girl who burns so bright in his memory, he’s sure she could consume him. That she could burn him up until only ash remained. Claim him at last.
The threadbare curtains are a poor defence against the high-noon desert sun, and he’s squinting into wakefulness now, fully-clothed and sprawled on tangled sheets, one arm groping toward the nightstand in search of some kind of liquid. But the water glass is empty and the bourbon bottle is too, and there’s nothing for it but to sit up.
He blinks against the light and looks around, tongue searching mouth for moisture and finding nothing. He knows every greasy smudge on these walls, every stain on the carpet. Even the smell of this place holds a certain charm that’s almost nostalgic. It’s not home, but he’s been here three times in almost two years and he thinks maybe it’s as close as he can get.
The need for water overpowers the pounding in his head now. And he ignores the long-broken tap in the dirty corner sink, pulls open the door and stumbles out into the motel parking lot, towards the diner across the road.
There, the soft, brown-haired girl smiles her sad smile and serves him coffee and eggs just the way he likes them. And later that night, he'll see her beside the stage, singing along and smiling that smile. And he'll sing and smile back at her, drunk and bulletproof. And afterwards he'll take her hand and lead her back to the room and kiss her and fuck her and lie and tell her she’s beautiful. And he'll think maybe he could stay here. Maybe he could pretend she makes him happy. It would be enough for her, she’s told him, for him to pretend. Just to pretend and stay here with her.
But her absence is a presence he can’t shake. And a soft, brown-haired girl will never be sharp enough to cut her out of him, to free him from her.
And this time, when it’s over, when he loosens the fingers twisted in that brown hair, his eyes still screwed-up shut, she takes his face gently in her hands and murmurs: “Hey... Hey, look at me.” He opens his eyes and meets hers, clear and unsentimental before him. She smiles that sad smile. “Honey, I’m sorry. It’s not. It’s not enough.” She sighs. And when her hands slide down to his chest, her eyes follow. “You can’t come back around here again.” And she gets up and pulls her dress over her head and runs a hand through her hair, and she walks out into the parking lot and doesn’t look back.
None of them ever look back when they leave. None except one.
The madness continues with Chapter 1